Forever Collides
by Annelikestowrite
Summary: A secret millennia old. A people long since forgot. It all started simply enough. With a girl and a boy, trying to keep from falling in love. UPDATED WITH EXTRAS!
1. Chapter 1

**Redone! Brand new stuff! So much better. R&R!**

A chattering crow lives out nine generations of aged men,  
but a stag's life is four time a crow's,  
and a raven's life makes three stags old,  
while the phoenix outlives nine ravens,  
but we, the rich-haired Nymphs  
daughters of Zeus the aegis-holder,  
outlive ten phoenixes.

_-Hesiod_

**Chapter 1**

I had dreamed such prophetic things before, and so the cadence of the dream-like state I found myself in was not unfamiliar to me. The abject terror that seized me to my very soul, locking me in its firm grip, was.

My surroundings were black and cloudy, a swirling cold mist nipped at me. However it wasn't the chill of the fog that froze the very marrow of my bones. Gigantic in his nightmarish intensity was a man. His meaty hands choked a girl; lifting her small form clear off her feet. Her hands were clutching frantically at his wrist. Pulling. Clawing. Trying anything she could to free herself. Her lungs were heaving her last breaths, fast and shallow.

I couldn't shake the odd awareness I felt. I knew her; if only I could remember. Her clothes were different: A black blouse covered by a black vest, legs encased in black leather pants, dark make-up-her eyes deeply circumferenced by kohl, her lips blood red, clashing with her fiery hair.

The man turned his eyes on me. They were brown slits of menace, pulsating evil. "Where are they?" His voice was wraithlike, hard and growling. The voice of a monster. His words drifted through my mind like a poison, killing everything it touched.

I opened my mouth to speak, to force out words of confusion or denial, but my voice wasn't cooperating. I was mute. I tried again. Nothing. Tears formed in my eyes as I struggled to gain control.

The girl was gasping, the man's hand had tightened, making it impossible for her to breath. Her panting ceased and her face deepened to purple. I really started to panic. I had to do something. It was all happening so fast. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, but I had to do something. I somehow knew it was vitally important for me to do something!

The man advanced on me, once he realized I was unwilling or unable to answer. My heart began actively pounding, trying to beat its way out of my chest scratching at my eardrums, threatening its failure. Throbbing, pulsing, hammering. I cringed at the pain and clutched my chest.

The girl's entire frame was going limp, her feet dangling. The man's eyes glowed and pulsed with energy. Large to the extreme, they had reddened in his increasing anger. I tried to back away but they just loomed closer. My mouthed opened in a silent scream. All the air had been mysteriously sucked from my lungs.

With his other hand, the man grabbed me around my neck shaking my entire frame. My teeth knocked together and sent spasms of pain rippling to the back of my head. An inevitableness settled over me. I was about to die. Just like the girl. It was already happening; I seemed to be floating away, away from the scene and the pain.

Numbness settled over me, floating in a sea of darkness, a cocoon of calm silence. Through the fog, I suddenly heard a voice, at first soft as an echo. The sounds were repetitive, a name being called. My name. "Samara…Sam?"

My eyes opened to the streaming light of my sun-filled dorm room. My soft flannel blanket had tangled around my ankles and my clothes were sticky with the sweat of a nightmare. A red-haired, green-eyed girl was shaking my arm slightly. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up, immediately wide awake when I recognized her. The girl from my dream! I blinked. It was my roommate, Cammy, wearing a dusky outfit, black vest over a black blouse, and dark leather pants. Cammy typically wore the blues and greens of winter. Seeing her in absolute black was a new experience.

She must have noticed my scrutiny, her face grew concerned, "Sam are you alright?"

"Yeah, um, what are you wearing?"

She spun in one quick tight circle, "It's my costume for the dance this Saturday. I'm going as a witch." She fingered the silk choker surrounding her neck, a large Celtic charm hanging from it.

"This Saturday?" My brain was still a little muddled.

Her hands flew to her hips, "Halloween, duh?"

"Oh yeah."

"So what do you think?" She smoothed out some imaginary wrinkles on her pants.

"A witch?"

She rolled her eyes, "It's not conventional, but with the number of visiting students around I would feel silly painting my face green and wearing a pointy hat like a child. All of those American shows have les chaude witches in leather corsets, but ma mere would never let me wear one of those, so I thought this was a good substitute."

Her eyes showed a hint of vulnerability that I rarely saw in my exuberant roommate, I scrambled to reassure her, "It's great, really. Is this why you woke me up?"

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth, "I completely forgot! It's 9:10."

It took a moment for it to process through my brain thick with sleep. I had just begun to snuggle under my warm covers when the alarm of her voice finally penetrated. I threw the covers off, "I'm late!"

I dashed around the room looking for something appropriate to wear. I didn't have much, and anything that was appropriate seemed to have migrated to the floor waiting for me to finally do the wash. There were a few cotton blended shirts in le cabinet, a gift from Mother Superior. I wasn't that desperate.

I took a moment to look down at my pajamas, a tank top and an old pair of sweats. Tacky, but acceptable. They would have to do. I tried to ignore the little voice in the back of my head that reminded me that I was an active criticizer of students who attended les classes in such informal attire and as a distraction, moved on to searching for a pair of matching shoes. I found one brown dress shoe near the door, one Reebok on the closet floor. Ugh. I checked under my bed; one pair of very old and overtly large pink flip flops in the corner amongst the dust bunnies. I mentally shrugged and threw them on.

Checking my reflection in the long mirror on the back of the door was an exercise in active disillusionment. My hair was coarse and thick, and having slept on it all night, it resembled a rat's nest. My prominent brow was hidden by a curtain of bangs thank goodness. I pulled the worst of my tangles into a bun at the crown of my head. My black eyes were squinted and glistening as they tried to acclimate to the bright sunlight. My outfit was rumpled: I looked like I had just rolled out of bed. I let out a long slow sigh. I would be mortified about my appearance later, though I knew there was little I could do to change it. I grabbed my bag and rushed out.

Philosophy: The study of old dead windbags. Dressed in aging tweed, a pipe held between yellow teeth from years of tobacco indulgence, our professeur fit right in. His lectures were trite and uninformative, a jumble of mismatched words and ideas. Currently he was discussing his favorite modern philosopher Rene Descartes' phrase, "I think therefore I am."

I sat hunched forward, chin supporting my already lulling head. I fought to stay awake, desperate not to draw attention to myself. Monsieur Renault had already glared me into embarrassment when I rushed into the classroom 20 minutes late.

I found myself nodding off as my teacher lost his spot in his lecture and had to begin again, "Je pense que donc je suis." This sadly was standard procedure. I was pretty sure he only had about 30 minutes of prepared material for each class as he always recycled his notes a couple of times. His voice droned on, suddenly linking into a long blur of nothing.

My dreams were filled with the comfort of hazy gray emptiness and I woke up, just as the bell signaled the end of class, with a small trail of drool leaking from the side of my mouth. I wiped it away as inconspicuously as possible and packed up my things avoiding eye contact with the few others procrastinating their escape.

I found a grassy mound catching a few of the last summer sun rays and took a seat. The long blades of grass tickled my heels, and I relaxed. As the morning shifted into afternoon, the day turned: Fall reminding its brother season that it was time to move on. The trees swayed in the light breeze, and the sun had dipped behind a grey cloud. It was much colder now, though not terribly uncomfortable. My skin had always been impervious to a slight chill. I was just contemplating going to get a sweater for the sake of appearance, as I was getting weird looks from all the other students passing by-dressed in light jackets and wool, when I noticed a man standing in a far off shadowed corner.

He was looking at me. His eyes were brown and assessing, but not in the same way as the passing students. He must have noticed my stare for he suddenly shifted further back into the shadows. That walk! Ice cold realization oozed down my spine. The man from my dream!

My first instinct was to scoff at the ridiculousness of such a thing. The presence of a man that looked the same, here and now was completely coincidental. Unbidden, an apparition of my roommate in her Halloween costume being strangled appeared before me. Those brown eyes, thick pale forearms, the confident swagger of his hips as he moved...I breathed heavily for a moment as that realization took time to sink in. It was the same man. I shivered, but not from the cold. I had this undeniable urge to see what he was up to.

Nothing could be seen from my spot on the grassy knoll. I packed up my bag before I could talk myself out of it. I half ran to the opposite side of the quad, as near to where he had stood as I dared. Chantanbleu hall is the oldest on campus, surrounded by ancient maples thickly shading it and the vélo stand making it ominously black.

The man had been standing just in front of that stand, one rusty bike his innocent companion. He wasn't there now. There was one small section of the shadowed stoop that I couldn't see from where I stood. It was probably large enough to hide even his monstrous form.

"Alright Samara, you can do this," I coached myself.

My feet weren't cooperating. I pulled my bag off my shoulders clutching it to me like a weapon, just in case he was determined to be dangerous. If I swung it hard enough it could do some real damage, especially because it held my 9 centimetre thick Philosophy book. Finally it would be useful for something. I propelled myself forward, towards the shadows and the unknown. My heart was pounding, my common sense screaming at me to stop.

I was breathing heavily as my eyes darted across the space. It was empty. I searched the ground. No dropped calling cards, no smoking cigarettes, no locks of hair. The man was gone. Perhaps he had just been a part of my overactive imagination? That must have been it. Not real, just my psyche playing tricks on me. I was being silly. Cammy wasn't in danger. I tried to laugh at myself, and I almost believed it. My heart beat wildly still.

My stomach grumbled then distracting me. In my haste to make it to class, I had neglected breakfast. I checked my watch. No time for a trip to the dining hall. I could grab a snack from my room. That would hold me over until lunch. And I should probably change out of my pajamas.

When I have the time or I'm feeling adventurous I take the stairs up to my dorm room. All seven flights. I eyed the stairwell and then watched as the elevator dinged and opened. My brow was coated with damp perspiration, my heart was still pounding. I'd had enough of a workout today. I stepped into the elevator.

My dorm room is perfectly square, 3 metres by 3 metres (yes, I had measured), but the near constant flitting presence of my Irish roommate makes it seem much smaller. She is small, just under one and a half meters tall, (for les americains using linear lengths I believe that would make her roughly 4 foot10 inches). Her energy easily rivals that of anyone twice her size. When I entered the room, she was scrubbing our small window with a damp cloth and singing horribly off key to a popular pop music song. The beat was catchy, but not the way Cammy was performing it. "Dah…dada, bubumbadada." It made me want to plug my ears, or better yet skip out on breakfast-I mean lunch. Her books and clothes were scattered across her bed and on the floor. She was still dressed in her Halloween costume and apparently she was doing her spring cleaning. In October.

"Uh," I bypassed mentioning the mess, as there was really no point. Cammy was notorious for doing what she wanted, when she wanted and disregarding all else, "You're still wearing your costume?"

She jerked away from the window. I guess she hadn't heard me come in over the combined noise of her singing and the squeak of her towel moving across the glass. "I have to break in the pants silly, they're tight. And since I have to wear them anyway I figured I would keep the rest of the outfit on as well."

"Why?"

"Don't want to be uncomfortable at la fête. You probably will want to do the same thing with your costume."

"Uh, sure," I wasn't planning on going, "I thought it was just for a few hours."

"Where have you been Sam? The whole school is talking about the party. It's going to go all day, starting right before the solar eclipse."

"There's a Solar Eclipse that day?"

"Yeah, it's gonna be so exciting, and so dark and creepy. Perfect for Halloween!"

"A dark day," I muttered to myself.

"Huh?" Cammy asked, but I paid her no mind. My own was reeling. A dark day, like in my dream-the blackness impossible to forget! A dangerous stranger who I was pretty sure I had seen skulking around campus. That same stranger attacking my roommate in her Goth witch's costume, her eyes rimmed with kohl, her lips red as cherries, at this year's Halloween party. In the middle of a solar eclipse.

I began to realize this was not a string of meaningless coincidences. I was being given a remarkable opportunity to stop all of it. I would not waste the chance. This was no longer an innocuous coincidence. I thought of all the times I had taunted Cammy about her attire, when I sensed rough weather was coming and then laughed when she got caught in a rain storm. Or had the bon chance of knowing beforehand when les profs were planning on giving pop quizzes. I didn't like to rely on my sensitivity, my ability to know things, but I didn't actively ignore it, either.

I looked at Cammy, who had gone back to cleaning. We weren't necessarily close. She had oodles of Irish relatives, and just as many friends. I was alone, orphaned from birth and completely solitary except for the few obligatory communications I received from Mother Superior on Easter and Christmas. Cammy drew attention like moths to a flame everywhere she went. I always disappeared into the crowd, existed just under the radar, a defense mechanism learned at the Orphanage when I needed to avoid trouble. I had trained myself from an early age to be self-reliant. Cammy and I were as different as night and day. Under different circumstances we probably could have been good friends. But still, she wasn't too bad. Except for trying to pull me from my taciturnus she was pleasant to be around. Circumstances had made us very different, but I had never begrudged her for her easy social skills.

Cammy didn't deserve what I now knew was waiting for her at the Halloween party, "Cammy? Have you thought about doing something else for Halloween?"

She looked at me incredulously, "You must be joking Sam. This will be the social event of the season. Perhaps of our entire lycée experience. I wouldn't miss this for anything."

"But…"

"No! And don't think you can get out of this either. I already have a costume picked for you, just in case you try to back out at the last minute." Her hands on her hips, foot tapping, her eyes hard green orbs of indignation, I knew I was stuck. Cammy was not to be trifled with when she looked like that.

So I guess I was going to a Halloween party. That would necessitate careful planning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

First things first, I needed a costume. The thought was so foreign to me, so superficial I nearly choked. How does one go about finding a costume? Would I have to go to Paris to the *gulp* haute couture shops? I was beginning to feel nauseated. Shopping was right up there on my list of priorities along with things like, getting a root canal or standing naked in the middle of a campus quad during lunchtime. Perhaps I could trust Cammy this once. And magically my stomach began to settle.

I also needed to warn Cammy, somehow convince her to be extra careful. I couldn't say anything directly. She would be convinced, and quite rightfully so, that I didn't want to go to the party and was making an excuse. Perhaps I had been a little overzealous in my previous excuses.

For days I meditated on a solution. Cammy didn't notice my preoccupation as she and her closest friends wandered in and out of the room going to dinner, parties, and study groups. It was a common practice of hers, and ses amies were used to seeing me sitting idly and unconcerned in my corner. A few of them would exchange greetings with me.

One of them was Beonce, who never seemed to remember my name, but that didn't stop her from being friendly. "Hey, I know you right?" she asked one evening as she waited for Cammy to finish primping.

She oozed with innocence, just like always. I tried not to roll my eyes at her. She had "met" me half a dozen times at least, "Yeah, I'm Cammy's roommate, Sam." I couldn't help the small amount of bite that escaped in my voice.

Beonce didn't notice. "That's right! So are you coming with us?" She seemed happy at the prospect.

Cammy hadn't invited me, "No, I have things to do. Maybe next time."

Beonce smiled guilelessly, "That would be great."

"Alright Beonce, let's go! Bye Sam."

I lay on my bed after Cammy had left, avoiding doing my homework that had been piling up lately. I chuckled at my latest encounter with Beonce. It was hard not to. Cammy probably took her in as a friend out of sheer pity. No one like Cammy had such an affinity for defenseless lambs. Left to her own devices, Beonce would be eaten alive. I could have told her my name was any number of things and she would have believed it. She would believe anything. My brain circled around that thought lazily, a few times. Guileless Beonce.

Perhaps that was the answer to my dilemma! Get Beonce on my side. Cammy would listen to her. Beonce was one of her closest friends. She could convince Cammy to be careful at the party. I would just have to pull Beonce aside and spin the greatest yarn I had ever told.

Luckily Beonce and I had class together every Tuesday and Thursday, differential calculus. I'm not sure how she had been enrolled in the class, and I guarantee she wasn't passing. I caught up with her just outside the classroom, "Hey Beonce."

She looked at me oddly for a moment, probably trying to remember where she knew me from. After a long moment a grin split her features, "Sam! You take this class too?" There were only 30 students in total but it still wasn't too surprising that she hadn't noticed me. I _was _surprised that for once she had remembered my name, "How are you?"

It was time. I started in on my well-practiced speech, "I'm a little worried actually. Have you heard the stories going around?" I darted my eyes left and right. I had decided earlier that it would add credence to my tale.

Her eyes grew big as saucers. "No. What?" For a moment I felt bad about deceiving someone so naive. But only for a moment. There was no other way around it.

"Angelika told Simone, who told me that there's an escaped outlaw in the area all set to come to our Halloween party on Saturday."

"Oh no!"

So far so good, "And he has a thing for red-heads."

Her own dark locks shook as her mouth dropped open, "But Cammy is a red-head!"

"I know!" I nodded my head emphatically.

"What are we going to do?" Beonce's teeth were worrying her lip. I hoped she wouldn't wear a hole right through.

"Someone should tell her."

"I'll tell her. She always believes me." Beonce said trying to sound tough, even as she made a valiant effort to hold back the tears that were forming in her large blue eyes.

Just one more push, "Someone needs to look after Cammy. She could get hurt!"

Beonce didn't even bother stifling the sob, "I'll go right now!" She hurried away, sniffling, her hands frantically brushing the tears from her cheeks.

I didn't know anyone named Angelika or Simone. I was pretty sure that Cammy didn't either. Nevertheless, no one would be able to resist attending to Beonce's admonitory story when she was in such a state. I had managed to shed a few tears along with her, out of sheer sympathy. Cammy didn't have a chance at resisting.

My last dilemma proved harder to solve. I would need a weapon; just in case. I was at a loss. My book bag would be of no use. How could I use it without injuring Cammy? The man in my dream had kept Cammy too close to him. If I hit him with my bag I would hit Cammy as well. And Cammy was much smaller than he was. Surely I would hurt her as well.

The problem eluded me as I tried out different possibilities. A large tree branch? But how was I to get one, the gardener and his crew were meticulous in their duties. My philosophy text book? No, that would cause the same problem as the book bag. A handful of rocks? Now I was just being ridiculous.

Finally, Cammy came to my rescue, so to speak. I groaned initially when she pulled me into our dorm room, "Sam! I have your costume."

I bit my tongue nearly in half as I halted the sharp retort, "Okay."

"You're going to love it!"

It must be really terrible. She was just digging herself in deeper with every word.

From her closet, she pulled a wrapped black parcel. The suspense was killing me as she unwrapped it carefully, meticulously folding the tissue paper.

"I thought you could go as Artemis, goddess of the Moon and the Hunt." With a flourish, she shook out a long white dress. To my undiscerning eye it didn't look too bad. It was actually more of a toga with one delicately laced shoulder strap and gold ribbon sewn throughout the satin fabric in geometric patterns.

Cammy's head had once again disappeared into her closet. "I knew you were good at archery. I thought you would be comfortable this way." Her small hands shoved a bow and a quiver full of arrows into my arms. I blinked at them. Archery had been a subject that I had excelled at. For all first year students, it was a part of the Physical Education requirement. My teacher had been especially impressed with my bow prowess, an ingrained skill it seemed, and something as mysterious as my heritage. While most students barely managed to master the correct form, I had also learned the necessary accuracy.

"I've heard," Cammy continued, "that there will be plenty of students dressing up as clowns, fairies and princesses this year. You'll blend right in."

I pulled back the bow string. It was strong and taunt. I checked the arrows. They were hand-whittled, sharp and perfectly straight. I wondered where Cammy had gotten them.

As if reading my mind, Cammy said, "They're my brother's. My parents bought him the bow. He's a real medieval nut. He made the arrows himself."

I looked at her in alarm¸ "Should I be borrowing them?"

She dismissed this with a wave of her hand, "He's four hours from home at an all boys' school. He won't even know they left the house."

I wasn't so sure, but Cammy looked calm enough. I nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

As we dressed for the party, I felt nervous knots beginning to form in my stomach. Even if my archery instructor had said I was a natural with a bow, it had been a long time since I had handled one. Of course, there was always the hope that I wouldn't actually have to use it. That was a cheery thought.

I slung the quiver of arrows over one shoulder, and the bow over the other, nearer my dominate hand. I had prepared as much as I was able. I hoped it was good enough. It would have to be.

I followed Cammy out of our room and down the stairs to the open quad in the center of the majority of the dorms. Only the seconde students or first years were housed elsewhere. There weren't many people milling about in the open air, and only a few of them were wearing costumes. Not everyone was going to be coming to the party? With smaller crowds it wouldn't be too difficult to keep an eye on Cammy. Perhaps Cammy had been wrong about it being the social event of the season.

I was feeling good, and there was a light spring in my step. The sun was shining and the moon was already moving steadily towards it, in preparation for the eclipse. It was a beautifully warm day. Probably one of the last before the weather turned permanently cold.

My confidence began to fail as I heard the beginning murmurs of voices growing in volume the closer we got to the Student Center. It disappeared completely when we arrived and I saw the large masses of people already gathered, even though the party had yet to start. Cammy moved through the groups like she owned the place; I kept up with her as best as I was able. How was I ever to keep an eye on her and look out for the man from my nightmare at the same time?

My mind must have wandered for I suddenly collided with Cammy when she stopped rather abruptly. "Sorry Sam." Cammy was unfailingly polite, even when she wasn't at fault. "We're here!" Her voice was cheerful. Too cheerful.

I wondered what "here" was. I looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked at Cammy confused. She gestured to the left of us and moved away from me. I followed her to where two boys dressed as pirates were waiting expectantly beside the food tables. Terminale students? At least I assumed they were in their last years of lycée. They were too big to be anything but.

Cammy had latched herself onto the arm of the smaller of the two, though to use that particular word would grossly underestimate his size.

I'm five feet nine inches and am used to towering over most of my peers. The pirate that Cammy was attached to stuck out his hand, and my elbow extended to reach up to grasp it. "I'm Wes." His voice was deep. He was handsome with black curly hair and russet skin. His eyes were a unique blend of aquamarine and hazel. He smiled and I saw all of his very white, very straight teeth.

I waved at him with the hand not engulfed in his palm and introduced myself, "Samara."

Wes jerked his head towards his companion, "This is Jamie."

I turned to Jamie, and looked up once again. Jamie was attractive, in a way. His hair was blond and cropped close to his head. His eyes were large and a very pale blue. His nose was even larger, and it was dusted with freckles. Slavic ancestry perhaps? His mouth was ridiculously small and thin when compared proportionately to the rest of his body. He was a mammoth. A rugby player? A super villain incognito? If it wasn't for the grin on his face I would be nervous. My neck was already starting to cramp. How did Cammy do this all the time? She was one of the smallest students at lycée.

"Hey there Samara. Can I call you Sam?" Jamie's voice was low and bristly but not unattractive.

I pulled Cammy away from them, "Uh Cammy? What's with the…uh…" I fumbled for a proper adjective before settling for the oft overused and almost inappropriate, "guys?" It would have been better to call them giants, or elephants.

"Beonce said she heard about some creepy guy lurking about. I decided we needed bodyguards." I looked sidelong at the boys. They had moved to the snack table and were devouring a massive bowl of potato chips. Each. I guess two more sets of eyes couldn't hurt. I told Cammy the same.

"Great!" She squealed and pulled me back over to Wes and Jamie. "I think Jamie likes you." She looked up at me smugly. I doubted that, but it would do no good saying anything to Cammy. "Hey boys! Sorry, minor female emergency," Cammy could do smooth like nobody's business.

Jamie and Wes shrugged in tandem, "Whatever."

Cammy pulled Wes a distance away and began furiously whispering in his ear. A moment later, and after some very deliberate and careful thought he whispered something back. She looked up at me, grinned, and flashed a thumbs up. Whatever that meant.

I turned to Jamie, he was still eating chips. "So ah..."

He looked down at me expectantly. I had absolutely nothing else to say. My brain hadn't processed anything beyond that single phrase. I had never been very confident at starting conversations with members of the opposite sex. Why would they want to talk to me anyway? I was just Samara, average student, no last name, and hardly a pretty feature.

"These chips are good. You want some?" Jamie offered.

I shrugged. When in doubt you can always eat. It cut down on my specialty-awkward conversations. And I was hungry anyway; I had been so nervous getting ready for the party that I had skipped out on lunch.

The other students were enjoying themselves all around me. Some of them had sampled a bit too much of the punch and were already swaying unsteadily on their feet. Probably American transfer students; they always enjoyed French parties. There was always some type of alcohol served and with no age restrictions the students from across the pond always went a bit wild.

As the sky began to darken, I tried to move closer to Cammy while keeping my eyes open for the man from my dream. Wes and she were looking cozy on a small bench talking and laughing together. He was holding her hand lightly, stroking the back with his thumb. They seemed to be having a good time. I on the other hand was a bundle of nerves and a bit put out that I had yet to see Cammy's antagonist. And Jamie was still eating.

The sky blackened and girls squealed in mock terror around me. The sun had been eclipsed for the first time in decades. I made myself enjoy this once in a lifetime event. I would probably never see it again. For a split second, the moon was completely balanced surrounded perfectly on all sides by celestial light. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. Then it began shifting away. It was over. The moment was gone.

I looked back towards where Cammy and Wes had been sitting. I could just make out a solitary figure sitting on their bench. It was too big to be Cammy. Wes "the bodyguard" was failing in his duties. I approached, all the while searching nearby groups for her. Perhaps she had gone to talk to another friend. She was society's golden girl. It was possible.

I didn't want to consider any other option. Especially with Wes sitting alone and looking so relaxed. A second form approached and sat beside him. Another large frame: Jamie. But where was Cammy? Warnings were blaring in my head. Okay, calm, cool and collected. Wes doesn't look worried. Everything was fine.

"Where's Cammy?" They both looked at me oddly. To be fair, my voice had come out harsher sounding than I had planned.

"She went to the bathroom." Wes answered me with righteous indignation.

Guess I deserved that. I pivoted on my toe to face the bathrooms. No Cammy. But she hadn't been gone long. _Okay breathe Samara. Give her more time. Perhaps there was a line._ My sandaled foot began to tap idly in impatience.

I looked around, searching for the man from my vision. A flutter of something dark caught my eye and I turned towards it expectantly. All I saw was the back of a pair of very broad shoulders and a balding head.

It was him. And underneath one powerful arm was a small body all in back and struggling. Cammy! I dashed through the crowds uttering apologies as I went. For once my height was an aid. I was able to keep the man in my sights.

How had he taken Cammy from under our very noses? All of my preparations had been for naught. Well almost. I gripped the bow tightly between my fingertips, an arrow at the ready. I began shoving people out of my way with my elbows. I heard yells and murmurs of complaints as I moved, but I ignored them all. This was too important to worry about offending anyone.

I was gaining on the pair. My feet were beginning to ache in the sandals, and my hair had fallen out of its elaborate twist just as I reached the edge of the party. The man moved into a dense copse of trees, a small protected wilderness at the edge of the school buildings. The sky hadn't returned to its full midday brightness, and with the added shadows of the trees it would be nearly impossible to keep on his tail. I would have to do something to stop him here.

I notched an arrow just as I, too, passed into the woods and pointed my taunt bow at his back, "Stop!" My voice came out a bit breathless from my frantic run.

The man heard. My hand momentarily faltered as he turned. His hand slid around Cammy's neck. "Let go of me. Let go!" She squealed and kicked. She still had plenty of fight left in her.

He smirked at me and squeezed her neck tighter. Cammy's face reddened in response. He was cutting off her air supply! My mind was a whirl of noises and heat, the moment I had dreaded was upon me.

"Put her down." My voice sounded small even to me.

He raised an eyebrow, "Or what? You're going to shoot me with that arrow?"

I pulled the string back completely taunt, all I had to do was release, "Yes."

The man threw his head back and laughed. It was a rich throaty laugh. I blinked. It was so normal. Like the laugh of a brother or friend. I had expected it to be the cackle of evil, of villains immortalized in text and film.

"Now this is how it's going to work," the man smiled at me condescendingly like he was about to do me a great favor. He continued, "You are going to tell me where they are, and then _maybe_ I won't kill your friend."

Like in my dream, I still had no idea what he was talking about. I felt like crying. This whole situation was sickeningly familiar. Even with all of my precautions nothing had changed because I still couldn't answer his question. And I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to let the notched arrow fly. It took a certain amount of courage that I didn't have. And the man knew it just as well as I did.

"I don't know who you are talking about." My voice was shrill, making it sound like I was lying. I cringed.

His grip on Cammy's neck tightened again, she let out an odd gurgling sound. "Don't play dumb with me girl. The Eternal Souls, where are they?"

Cammy was turning blue now, her cheeks sallow, her struggles had ceased. Her body was going limp. I could feel tears burning at the edge of my eyes as I tried to regain my courage. I had to do something! Just like in my nightmare I was completely useless. My throat was tight in agony, my eyes wide in terror.

The man's face turned menacing, "You still refuse to tell me?" He began striding towards me, Cammy's body swinging in his fist like a rag doll, "You're friend is dying. Doesn't her life mean anything to you?" He shook Cammy roughly and her head flopped forward. My heart was pounding frantically. "Well perhaps there are other ways to make you talk." He leered at me and I knew exactly what he meant.

The last thread holding my sanity abruptly snapped. I closed one eye, focused on my target and let the arrow fly directly towards the man's heart. It punctured his chest, and his grip at Cammy's neck loosened. His body was thrown back from the impact and Cammy fell to the ground. I rushed to her side, trying to ignore what I had just done. With shaking fingers, I checked the pulse at her neck. It was there but very faint.

I moved her head to my lap, trying to make her comfortable, and patted her arm awkwardly, "Cammy?"

"Cammy, come on girl," I shook her slightly. Her face was still purple. The freckles that I had always admired were bright red spots of color, clashing with her clothes and makeup. She would be mortified when she awoke. I had to believe she would awaken.

I checked her pulse again. Her heart beat was stronger. I put my ear near her mouth, but she still wasn't breathing. "Come on, wake up!" It was entirely my fault. Tears rolled down my cheeks. It should have been me.

The sky appeared as twilight because of the trees, the air misty from an early morning rain, but I didn't notice any of it. My fingers remained wrapped around my roommate's wrist, assuring myself that a heartbeat meant life. I could hear distant sounds of the party, just entering its climax, happy voices laughing. Voices worlds apart from my agony. I didn't look at the dead man, I didn't even contemplate it, all my energy focused on the girl I held, cradling her safely from the grim reaper and suddenly she took a tiny breath.

"Cammy! You're alright." I hugged her to me, relief didn't even begin to describe what I was feeling.

I had no concept of time. It could have been mere moments or even hours, but it was a truly beautiful sound when I heard Cammy speak. "You're wrinkling my outfit." Her voice was raspy.

I let go of her and helped her to her feet. She was leaning on me heavily, her steps awkward.

"What happened to the guy?"

I finally looked at him. Blood was seeping slowly from the wound in his chest, the arrow still imbedded in his flesh. My stomach revolted.

"Is he dead?" Cammy _had_ to ask.

"Yes I think so," I said through clenched teeth, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

"What did he want?" Cammy's voice came out in a choked whisper. She had tears in her eyes.

I wasn't very good at comforting people; I patted her on the back, "I don't know," I lied.

An odd ringing sounded through the trees. A telephone? Cammy and I looked at each other and then at the dead man. We moved closer. It was coming from him. He must be carrying a cell phone.

"What do we do?" I asked.

Cammy squared her shoulders and then strode directly to his side, "I'm going to answer it."

"But what if…?"

She turned towards me, her eyes flashing, I took a step back, "I almost died! I think I deserve to know what's going on."

She picked up the phone and answered it doing a fairly good impression of the dead man's voice her own modulated low and deep, "Hello?"

A long pause, Cammy furrowed her brow, "No."

Another pause, "Yes sir. I will. Goodbye."

She checked the display after she'd closed the phone. "Some guy named DeWittier. He had a strong British accent, but the call was local. He asked me if I had the information." Her eyes narrowed, "Why did he ask me that Sam? What did the dead guy want from you?"

I didn't want to tell her what the man had said. Her neck was beginning to bruise, big purple handprints pulsating to the surface. It was ugly and terrifying to look at. I wanted her to be able to put this whole thing behind her. At least one of us would be able to.

She hit me on the arm, "Well?"

"He wanted to know where 'they' were."

"They?"

"I don't know," I lied. It was really a half truth. I knew what the man had said, but I hadn't known who the "Eternal Souls" were.

Suddenly Cammy slipped to the ground, her body spasming as loud sobs racked her frame. I had to get her out of here. For all her false bravado she was obviously deeply affected. I tugged her back to her feet. She offered no resistance as she continued to cry. I dragged her out of the trees, just as Wes and Jamie happened upon us. I was annoyed that it had taken them so long to get here. Where were they when we needed them?

They both eyed Cammy's tear-stained face uncomfortably, "Is she okay?"

"Where have you been?"

"What do you mean?" There was that indignant tone again. "We've been looking all over for you. Even sent a scared little seconde student into the bathroom to see if you were there."

"Oh." There wasn't much else to say.

"What happened?" Jamie asked, his voice calm.

I opened my mouth, and then snapped it shut. What do I tell them?

The truth. There was no point in lying. Eventually someone would find the body, and I needed advice on what to do next. "Someone tried to kill her. He's in there." I jerked my head in the direction we had come. "He's dead." My stomach churned and I threw up on my shoes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The security office at lycée is small, like broom closet, small. Most students are studious, occasionally there is a decenter, but with the difficulty of the classes, they don't last very long. Often the security officer's (yes there is only one) only duty is to stop students from smoking in class, and not dropping the paper cups from their coffees on the lawn. I've always seemed to have some type of aversion to coffee-it makes me jittery-and smoking has never appealed to me, so I haven't had much contact with Officer Menlow. Well, really none at all.

He opened the door at our knock, and shuffled himself out passing his desk, climbing over a chair, and deftly avoiding a potted ficus tree in the corner. "Les etudients?"

Cammy and I had planned on leaving the area with the full intention of pretending not to be involved. Wes had been the voice of reason, "You have to tell someone or you could get in big trouble later. It was self-defense, and you guys are minors." Apparently Wes' father was a lawyer, and he knew all kinds of useful things. Cammy had chosen well for herself.

"We found something in the woods." I shuddered as I remember the glass-eyed look of the dead man staring unseeing at me as Cammy had taken the call from DeWittier.

Wes prodded me, one gigantic finger tapped at my back, "A dead body."

Officer Menlow was befuddled for a long moment. All he could do was blink at each of us with rapid succession, "Some type of animal?"

"A human," Cammy managed to choke out before bursting into tears. Menlow's eyes widened and he began frantically looking around him, "Uh mademoiselle, uh…une chaise…uh." But there was no chair to be found except the one in his office safely affixed between the wall, the ficus and the desk. He needn't have bothered. In Cammy's distress, the poor girl's legs slipped from under her and she slid to the floor.

"He was threatening the girls," Jamie stoically added. Jamie had yet to speak, the entire experience he had been completely mute. Why was he speaking up now?

Wes was sitting beside Cammy rubbing her shoulders, but his eyes were watching Jamie carefully as if waiting for some type of signal. Suddenly it all clicked into place. If I didn't explain, one of these two boys would take the blame. And it appeared that Jamie had chosen himself. He had just opened his mouth to speak when I cut in.

"He…he was killing her," I expostulated in a small voice.

Menlow looked at me with his eyebrows raised to his hairline, clearly he thought I was being dramatic.

"She's got bruising on her neck," Wes spoke.

Menlow bent towards Cammy to take a closer look, the skin was mottled and puffy, and still very, very purple. Five sausage finger imprints were glowing under the fluorescent lighting. "A dead man did this to her?" If he was trying for a joke, it fell flat.

"He wasn't dead at the time sir," Jamie interjected again.

Menlow looked up at Jamie, his eyes narrowed, "How did he die then?"

"I," Jamie started but I elbowed him in the ribs. Thankfully he took the clue.

"I shot him."

"With a gun?" Menlow's pale green eyes focused on me, "Those are not permitted…"

"No, with a bow and arrow." Obviously such a danger wouldn't be permitted either, but the idea of a student using Physical Education equipment as a weapon had probably never occurred to the administration.

"Continue," was all Menlow said.

"He wanted to…" here I faltered and blushed crimson, "Ah…"

"The last thing I remember was him telling Sam he would kill me and then go after her," Cammy's raspy voice was quiet, never-the-less, the meaning of her words reverberated through that dank hallway like a sonic boom.

Menlow nodded. I could not read him, could not know what his final judgment would be, "Where is the body now?"

"Uh…" Jamie and I looked at each other. We hadn't thought to remember the direction.

"Southeast, about 5 meters into the woods behind the dining hall," Wes the continual voice of reason calmly spoke.

In the early hours of the morning, the four of us staggered out into the enticing velvet night and head towards the dorms. By some kind of unspoken agreement, the boys not only walked us to the door, but accompanies us to our room. And then they followed us in. No one spoke. Cammy climbed into bed, Wes not far behind her, and he wrapped his gigantic form around hers. Jamie didn't ask, he just climbed onto my own bed, cramping himself into an awkward kind of a half circle to give me enough room on my twin mattress. He was so large that his feet still dangled off the end of the bed. He couldn't be comfortable, but still he stayed.

The moment Jamie had removed his shoes and climbed onto my bed I realized how desperate I was for comfort. He wrapped his arms around me and I felt safe for the first time all evening. As the lights went out, the terrors of the night took on less imaginary forms. Cammy cried herself to sleep, and every time I closed my eyes I saw the dead man, his eyes wide and staring in disbelief.

It wasn't just the horror of seeing him again and again that kept me awake. It was the realization, the constant whisperings of my mind that I was the one who had done it. It wasn't guilt. I knew what guilt felt like. This was something entirely new. Like a fraught kind of despairing eventuality. Like I had doomed myself to a life I knew nothing about. I would never be the same again. And there was no way back. I finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion just as the sun dawned with Jamie softly snoring in my ear.

When I awoke, I was alone in my bed. Cammy was huddled under her quilt, her grief splotched face the only thing visible. She looked very small. "Where are the guys?"

Her eyes flicked to mine, they were red-rimmed and puffy, "They went to mass." Her expression glazed over. Attending mass wasn't obligatory at the Catholic influenced school, but it was as close to required as anything could be. She shuddered and gripped her covers more tightly around her as if they would give her the comfort she was still desperate for.

"Cammy are you alright?" I nearly screamed at myself. Of course she wasn't alright!

"I just can't erase the feeling of his hands around my neck," her own small fingers stroked at her bruises and she shuddered again. Her eyes filled with tears. I gritted my teeth. Cammy might be small, but she had one of the most formidable personalities o anyone I had ever met. I had seen her lock horns with girls twice her size and win! To be reduced to this…

"Cammy? Maybe you should go home for a while. Be with your family? It's the beginning of the semester, I'm sure you won't miss much."

"But what about you? I can't leave you here all alone," she protested, but her voice lacked her customary confidence. She really wanted to go.

"I've got Jamie to look after me." It was a little white lie. Jamie was nice and comfortable, but I had no romantic feelings for him. In the light of the morning, all my previous awkwardness had resurfaced.

"If you're sure…" She was weakening.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." I said with more assurance than I knew I had. My stomach was still rolling as I desperately tried to not think about the dead man. "I'll help you pack." That should provide an adequate distraction.

Cammy had other ideas. As we packed, she began speaking about what we had told Campus security the night before. She hadn't said much at all, until now. "I can't believe that you actually told the what happened."

I looked at her bemused, "Wes wouldn't have exactly let me get away with not saying anything."

"He wouldn't have pushed, it was just an idea," she staunchly defended him.

I didn't want to tell her about him physically prodding me.

"Not like I'm not grateful," she frowned, "but you killed that guy. I mean _I_ would be seriously freaking out by now."

I interrupted her ruminations, "What are you going to tell your parents?"

"The truth?"

"You're going to tell them that I…"

"No! No, of course not that! But I will tell them the rest. I'll have to. It won't make the papers, the school wouldn't like the publicity, but I'm sure they won't be able to stop the rumors from spreading. Besides," she smiled her first real smile in several hours, "Maybe it will let me off the hook with my brother once he finds out about the missing arrow."

"Maybe I can get him another one," I added absently, my thoughts already returning to a pair of brown eyes, wide in death.

"He made those himself remember?"

"But…"

"No, it was my idea! It'll be alright."

I didn't fight her on it, I was too grateful that she was starting to seem like her old self again. I saw Cammy off at 4 o'clock; she was taking the last commuter train from the nearby village. As I walked back to my room, I noticed groups of people gathered together. They were all watching me quietly. Cammy was right. The rumors had already started. I didn't want to know what they were saying. I didn't want to be reminded.

I disappeared back into my room and fell into bed exhausted. For once my concerns couldn't keep me awake and I slept. I awoke in the pitch black. I checked my cheap digital clock. It was about 4:30 in the morning. I didn't have classes until 10. It was raining outside and the dining hall wouldn't be open for several hours, so I was stuck. And I was completely awake. I listened to the rain, and the wind howling through the droplets, as I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Something about the blackness was soothing. My brain remembered the black of a comforting sleep, free from terrors. I couldn't help remembering my nightmare, and the waking reality it had become. With it, the entire conversation I'd had with the dead man played on repeat. It was all so confusing! What did "Eternal Souls" mean? Who were they? What had they done that was so significant?

I had to know. The library would not be open this early. But the internet never closed. I sat at my desk, facing my computer. It was grey and dented, a relic, or nearly so, Mother Superior's hand-me-down, gifted to me when I left for school. Cammy had a sleek laptop on her desk, top of the line, black and thin and calling to me. It didn't take long to make a decision. Cammy wouldn't mind. It was almost as if she had left it behind so I _could_ borrow it.

I sat at her desk and booted her computer up. It purred to life, unlike my counterpart that always sputtered like a machine gun. I typed "Eternal Souls" into Cammy's preferred search engine and got a thousand hits. This could take a while. I read slowly, discovering that most of the results were for religious sites, talking about eternal life and souls raked by hellfire and damnation. Probably not what the dead man was talking about. There was a quick link for websites dealing with immortality. I clicked it.

Once again a lot of religious sites queued up. I began to feel a trifle uneasy as I sifted through them; just as I always did when religious discussion arose. I consider myself a good person, I know the difference between right and wrong. I've just never subscribed to the idea that I needed religion for this. Mother Superior at the orphanage had thought otherwise. Those were not happy memories.

My eyes landed on a single result at the bottom of the page, 'Shangri-La.' I had heard of it, although briefly. I clicked on the link. Beautiful images of a tropical paradise filled the screen: waterfalls, lush foliage, large and colorful tropical birds. In addition were sketches of people, aged but still young somehow. There was a fable written off to the side of the pictures.

_Shangri-La in the high mountains of Tibet was a culture of near immortal beings; their eternal youth granted from a hidden stream, a fountain of sweet-tasting water. Explorers and Adventurers have searched for this society: No evidence of such a society, or the Fountain of Youth have ever been found._

"Fountain of Youth" I had heard of that, but I couldn't remember where. I looked at the pictures of the Shangri-La paradise longingly as the wind picked up outside, and a loud crash of thunder shook the windows. A warm, green, paradise would be a nice change from the bleakness of November.

I returned to the search engine and typed in 'Fountain of Youth.' I was curious to see the results. The first hit was about a popular movie series soon to be produced about finding the legendary waters. Not exactly what I had in mind. I skipped over it.

Another caught my eye. It talked about a spring of unusual power situated somewhere in Florida in the Southern United States. That could be interesting. I clicked the link.

_St. Augustine, Florida is the site of the most widely known Fountain of Youth, but the idea did not begin here. The first mention of a fountain of youth began with the father of history, Herodotus, who lived in the 5th century B.C. He believed that there was an active Fountain of Youth in Africa, more specifically among the Ethiopians who seemed to live longer than their contemporaries. Expeditions for other such sites continued throughout much of Grecian and European history._

_Juan Ponce de Leon, always a dreamer, was fascinated when he heard rumors among the natives of Puerto Rico about a fountain of youth in what he believed then to be the island of Florida. Dissatisfied with his worldly wealth and growing older due to the difference in climate from his native Spain, he launched an expedition in 1513 to search for the waters. _

_A year later, he stumbled out of the everglades completely alone, and made the trip back to Puerto Rico, raving to whomever would listen of his time spent among a small tribe of natives who used a special spring of water religiously so they could continue immortally. He had lived with them for a time, trying to glean from them the location of the fountain. But they had never given it up._

_His fellow Spaniard Explorers had all died of the Ague, or Malaria as it would be known in later centuries. Ponce de Leon suffered a minor case, but he pulled through, and most attributed his tales of fountains and immortality to the hallucinations caused by his disease._

_But some did believe and they undertook very costly Pilgrimages to the same location he had visited and found the area devoid of life. Not one pilgrim ever found the fountain. Ponce de Leon was labeled a dreamer by his kindest critics, and a madman by all others. Today, modern tourists can visit an Archeological Park in St. Augustine, the reported landing place of Ponce de Leon._

I sat back to ponder what I had read. Immortal beings could be called Eternal Souls. They sounded the same. I could think of little difference between them. But still, none of it made any sense. What would I, a mere lycée student know about eternal life? I was 16 years old. My own expiration had never occurred to me. I was too young to be thinking about it, I supposed. I had never thought of eternity, or the hereafter, or whatever happened when people died. What could DeWittier possibly want with me? I wasn't even that smart. What did he think I knew?

It made me angry to think of the lengths he had gone to, to force information from me. Information that I didn't possess! Surely he had other options. On a whim I typed his name into the search engine and struck gold. A company website.

DeWittier, was Charles DeWittier the 5th, CEO of DeWittier Enterprises, and one of the world's industrious billionaires. He had moved his operations from England to France about 10 years ago. There were even pictures of him offered. My curiosity got the better of me. I clicked the link.

The first was of him on a beach, a drink in his hand and grinning at the camera, looking very tan and fit. He was perhaps in his early 30's. The second was a candid pose, him on a large sailboat. He was wearing a white polo and tan pants, a few laugh lines near his eyes and mouth as he smiled softly into the breeze. A third showed DeWittier behind a large wooden antique desk, his body obviously withered under the three-piece, very expensive suit he was wearing. He was smiling, but his eyes held no light. He was unhappy.

Each photo had to be decades apart because DeWittier had aged significantly in each one. I looked over the pictures again, stopping at the latest. Yes, this was a man who would be interested in Immortality. This could be a modern day Ponce de Leon, tired of his wealth, searching for something more precious than gold. Ready to cheat the death that he knew was coming.

At the bottom of the page was an electronic mail address, a very generic business contact e-mail. It might never get to him I reasoned, but I felt like I had to do something. A man as wealthy as he was could send an infinite number of henchmen after me. Ready to torment and torture me for something I didn't know. My hand moved away from the mouse hovering over the email address. It would never work.

My brain conjured up images of the last several hours of my life. It had turned from ordinary to terrifying. In a heartbeat. Like snapshots, I saw myself facing Cammy's abductor, then her unresponsive form lying on the ground, the man's dead body oozing blood. I thought about Cammy, about the haunted look on her face that just wouldn't disappear. Even when she laughed it was still there, that look of endless terror. She had been forever changed. Ruined forever for complete happiness. I clicked on the email address before I could change my mind and scribed a quick message.

Dear Monsieur DeWittier,

I don't know you, but you seem to know me. I do know one thing certainly. I don't have what you are looking for. Please desist in your harassment.

Thank you,

Samara

Perhaps it would never get to him, perhaps he would ignore it. I clicked the send button anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Life was quieter at first without Cammy around, at least until the next day. After the silent judging made by the student body as a whole, I had been avoiding most of the popular places on campus, unsure and awkward about how to act, but my stomach was complaining. I couldn't ignore it any longer. I headed for the cafeteria.

As I made my way through the line I was shocked, angered and then saddened to hear that all the talk-some in low murmurs, others high-pitched whines of terror-was about me. If they had noticed my presence, they didn't seem to care.

They didn't even bother keeping their voices low, "And she killed him. Can you believe that?"

"I always knew there was something wrong with her." I searched for the speakers, but they were well hidden. Perhaps that was why they were being so loud. They knew I would never find them.

"Look! I bet she's deciding on a new victim." My head slumped to my chest. I watched my shoes as I shuffled through the food line.

"Don't look at her, you could be next." and several girls squealed in fright, and a few boys laughed

"Hey what happened to her roommate?"

"You don't think..." The rest was left unsaid.

I grabbed an apple tart and ran, not even bothering to pay.

How could they possibly think such a horrible thing? They didn't even know me. If they could only have known the agony I had already put myself through, the anguish, they would never have said such a thing! I walked back to my room, my shoulders hunched, my eyes staring at the floor trying to disappear into it. I could always hide in my room for the rest of the afternoon and skip my last two classes. I wouldn't miss much. The idea of facing the stares and the whispers was too much to bear.

My room was just as I had left it. No scattered books, no loud music, no overly cheerful roommate. I checked the phone for messages. Perhaps Cammy had called. The red light refused to blink. The room was much bigger now that Cammy had gone home. It was eerily calm.

I sat on my bed, my back still hunched as I tried to eat my apple tart. My jaw ached as I opened it wide, and my teeth stung when they made contact with the pastry. It tasted like sawdust and guilt. I swallowed painfully.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw an object suddenly shift. My head flew in that direction. Cammy's books sat innocently on her pink painted shelf. They hadn't moved, and they didn't move even as I stared at them.

Perhaps the dead man's ghost was haunting the place. My brain unwittingly conjured up the last image I had of him, eyes wide and glasslike, staring off into space, and an arrow protruding out of his chest, the blood…something large and very real and unpleasant turned over inside my stomach. I barely made it to the washroom in time. Tears streamed from my eyes as I emptied my stomach again and again until there was nothing left.

Still my body refused to calm. With my back to the wall, I closed my eyes and breathed one long unsteady breath in, one slightly steadier breath out. And the cycle continued until the nausea went away.

I returned to my room, sat on my bed and stared at each individual object on the shelves. Cammy's makeup, not moving; her small T.V., not moving. I eyed her books suspiciously. They were still and innocent. My own shelves were pretty bare except for my textbooks and a few library books. Also, not moving. All was quiet. I was going crazy.

How long I sat there, I do not know, but suddenly I had an indescribable and very urgent need to leave. It was all consuming, like a strong hand pushing on the back of my sub-conscience. It pushed me from my bed, and out the door. And I didn't fight it.

My last class of the day would be starting in minutes. But I wasn't thinking about going. I heard the whispers, and watched the students nearly dive out of my way as I slumped along. I heard the words 'killer' and 'murderer' spoken in soft whispers echoing off the trees, cloaking the campus around me in gloomy darkness.

I made my way across the quad, past classrooms to the back-campus, the dark areas and alleys, far away from the dorms where the undesirables spent most of their time. I passed on by. Not even the undesirables would take me in. Even they would have heard the rumors. Not one of them would risk the almost certain social suicide if one of their peers ever found out. Even the undesirables had standards. I was a nothing. To anyone.

I had never appreciated Cammy's friendship until now. She had offered it out of the goodness of her pure heart with not one string attached. I had taken her for granted, scoffing at her overturns of friendship, rejecting her invitations. And now that she was gone I was discovering what it truly meant to be utterly and entirely desolate and alone. I didn't like it at all. The loneliness was poignant as I realized that for the first time in my life I was desperate to have somebody to talk to.

I found my own hiding place near the loading and unloading docks. It was where supplies were delivered and where the garbage was picked up. No one came here-not if they could help it. The smell of decaying, molding food was atrocious. The flies roamed landing and swarming, the sound of their wings overpowering. Soon I could hear nothing else. Here I wouldn't be bothered.

I sat alone with my thoughts. They were both dismal and depressed. What could I do about the rumors going around campus? Would the administration believe them? Even though I had been exonerated, could things change now that Cammy, my witness had left? Would I be forced to leave the lycée? It was an errant thought, too depressing to contemplate, for I knew the ultimate truth. If I wasn't here, I had nowhere I could be. Where would I go, back to the Orphanage? Mother Superior didn't have the room. I had no friends, no one willing to take me in. I shouldn't have encouraged Cammy to leave. _That was awfully selfish_, the tiny voice of my conscience sounded in my ear. I ignored it. For what I was enduring I felt I had every right to be selfish. She would not allow me to be treated this way by our peers. She would have stood up for me in a way I never could.

Why had I been gifted with foretelling dreams? With something so temping to correct, I couldn't avoid it. I wished I had. I regretted my feelings, for without the dream I would not saved Cammy. She would have been dead, I perhaps being unprepared might have joined her. If I was still living, my situation might be worse. Who knows what Cammy's attacker would have done to me?

I wallowed in my own self-pity until the sun set, leaving the area dark, deserted of all light save a small street lantern some distance away. The flies had stopped moving, a few I was sure had settled into my hair, but I didn't care. The wind had died down. I slunk back to my room keeping to the shadows, trying to ignore the stab to my heart as I heard light laughter streaming from open windows.

My room was just as I left it, black and empty. I didn't sleep. The next day before dawn, I snuck back to the docks. So this was to be my new existence. It didn't even qualify as a life. I did the same thing, the next day, and the next. And I lost all track of time. How much had passed? A few hours … days …months? I couldn't be sure. I was starting to smell like the garbage I spent so much time around.

I returned to my room earlier one day slightly awakened from my funk. Something incredibly rank had been thrown away that morning. Not even I could handle the smell of whatever it was that was decaying slowly in the rubbish bins.

A blinking light on the answering machine caught my eye. "Mademoiselle Samara," the voice of the head teacher responsible for the students in my year spoke, "I have an available hour tomorrow. I would very much like it if you joined me."

He wasn't really asking. My heart beat erratically in my chest knowing that this meeting did not bode well for me.

The next morning I sat on my floor defeated and still in my pajamas. I wanted to go to the meeting as I was, but I knew that was only a recipe for disaster. I would need to be presentable, or my faculty advisor would take it as an admission of my ineptness. My worst fears were coming true.

I had one pair of clean pants, and I finally pulled one of the shirts from Mother Superior out of the closet. The pants were baggy, and the shirt was tight, but they were clean, and I looked semi-respectable.

Monsieur Conne's secretary greeted me with false smiles and good cheer. It only increased my worry. She was trying too hard.

Monsieur Conne himself was very grave, his hands steepled under his chin, "Mademoiselle Samara, have a seat." He did not rise as I entered. His mahogany desk faced away from the window, the morning sun hallowed his head making him appear ethereal.

"Thank you sir," It wasn't what I wanted to say, but I had to be polite or risk everything.

Monsieur Conne shuffled some papers around on his desk as he prepared to speak, "It seems through no fault of your own, that your Catholic Benefactors have not been able to make their last few payments. They have sited a shortage in donations. In this economy, I do not doubt it." Through all of this, he would not look at me.

"They are quite behind. We have allowed for a period of extended mercy, but we cannot make an exception, even for such a superior student such as yourself."

"What a minute¸ what are you saying?"

"I'm sorry Mademoiselle Samara, but if the payment isn't received by the end of the week, you will need to vacate the premises."

"You're kicking me out? You can't. This is my home! I'm sure the money is coming. Mother Superior would never…" my eyes narrowed suddenly. "What a minute? This is about Cammy's attacker isn't it?" He wouldn't look at me again, I took that for my answer, "He would have killed her Monsieur Conne. Even Cammy admitted that."

His eyes flared at me, "Perhaps in the beginning she did. But where is your defender now? She has taken a leave of absence? Some kind of holiday? Perhaps her guilt at having to lie for you was too much for her."

"She didn't lie!" I jumped to my feet, leaning over his desk glaring down at him.

"Sit down Samara," his voice was icy calm, and no longer polite. I sunk into my seat, "You have a bit of a temper. Did you threaten Cammy to keep your secret?"

My head hung in defeat. It no longer mattered. He would only believe what he chose to. My eyes blurred with tears, but I refused to wipe them away.

"You have not been attending your classes, avoiding the student body in general," my head jerked up, how had he known? He looked at me placidly. "We will not report this to the authorities, the publicity," He waved his hand dismissively, "But you must leave. I have a few suggestions. A few homes that might be willing to help you find some type of employment." I knew what type of homes he was talking about. I shuddered.

"You are too emotional for us to continue our discussion now. He flipped through a paper calendar at his right, "It appears I have an additional hour later this week. You can return then."

I had always been a good student, but I had never performed exceptionally, or shone. I was expendable, a mere blip on the record like the other troublemakers. They were very anxious to get rid of me it seemed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The message light was blinking again when I came back to my room. It was Cammy, her voice light and perky, she seemed to be back to her former cheerful self. At least there was that, "Hey Sam. I just wanted you to know I got home safely. Everything is great! I'm feeling much better. I was really hoping to catch you," she paused and I could tell she was pouting, "I wanted to hear any developments with Jamie. According to Wes, he's totally into you." Not even Jamie would risk attaching himself to me. "Call me soon! I gotta go. A bientôt!"

I made a decision. Quite a daring one, but I must admit I was emboldened by Cammy's voice on the machine. Even from far away, she had given me the confidence I needed. I would go to class. I would brave the stares and the gossip. I would prove to everyone, including Monsieur Conne that I belonged. I could be the best student here if I applied myself. I checked our wall clock, a monstrosity of pink and purple swirls. I had already missed my first hour of class, but if I hurried I could make it for the second.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. It was the first time I had looked at myself in a very long time. My cheeks were gaunt. I hadn't eaten much lately, and what I had managed to force down had seemed determined to be regurgitated. My eyes were darkly shadowed and puffy. I hadn't been sleeping. My nose was red and raw from the time I had spent outside. My forehead was constantly creased in worry, the heavy weight of what I had done and the consequences of those actions pushing down on me. My hair was ragged, unkempt, unwashed, and full of tangles. I had never been pretty. Now I was positively hideous. I was beginning to get a headache as I crossed campus, my eyes half closed in pain.

As such, I wasn't looking my best when I saw him for the first time. Is it possible for a man to be beautiful? Perhaps not, but tall, dark and handsome seems entirely too cliché to describe how devastating he was. I was trying not to notice or be noticed by anyone, but I couldn't force my eyes away from him. He was standing on a slight rise, under a large shade tree that was just beginning to lose its wine-colored leaves. His angora sweater was stretched tight over a muscular chest and rolled up at the elbows. His pants were light and linen. He was entirely unaffected by the cold breeze that was blowing ruffling his hair. Hair that was jet black and fashionable. My mouth dropped open as I noticed a forehead as prominent as my own hidden beneath long bangs. There was something about such a similarity that made him familiar, but equally unattainable. His eyes were dark and his skin was the color of an expensive latte, with just a hint of cream. He looked like he enjoyed a lot of time in the outdoors.

My heart was pounding as I remembered my own imperfect appearance. He hadn't seen me yet; I could melt into the crowd before someone as beautiful as he caught a glimpse of ordinary me. As if attuned to my very presence, as if he was waiting for me-even though I knew that was ridiculous-his eyes suddenly flicked to mine. They coursed over my entire frame then narrowed, his upper lip curling in disgust. His eyes lost all their light, they became cold dark rocks as he expressed his disgust. I averted my eyes as I hurried away, completely mortified. I had never been noticed by someone like him before. I knew I was nothing special, but to have it reaffirmed in such a mortifying manner, I had never felt so rejected.

I tried to reassure myself, the campus was big and I had never seen him before. Perhaps I would never see him again. I disappeared into my Physics classroom and sat in my usual chair, to the left and slightly apart from the rest of the students. Since Cammy was my usual lab partner, I would obviously be alone today. I stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with the other students. I couldn't believe he had looked at me like that! I attempted to melt into my chair. The seat wasn't porous enough.

I heard voices as more students filed in. Most of them were discussing the latest Physics assignment. The class was upper level, and very exclusive. At least here, my fellow classmates would perhaps be more concerned with earning top marks then spreading gossip. There was always hope.

I was half wrong. This time the gossip wasn't about me. I heard a female voice at the back of the classroom, "Apparently he doesn't speak a word of Italian, so Madame Duval made me his partner. I _am_ the best in the class." I cast a surreptitious glance at the speaker wondering if I knew her. I didn't, but she was everything I was not. Petite, blond, and gorgeous. I found myself oddly interested in who she was talking about. She fluffed her golden locks and tucked them behind her ears. "He is absolutely dreamy. Especially that body!"

Her audience collectively sighed. "His French is beautiful, especially for not being a native. I wonder where he's from? I couldn't place the accent at all. But he's here for good. A permanent transfer!" Why did I feel a small bubble of dread in my gut? Could it be possible that she was talking about the boy I had just seen? "And those clothes. Did I tell you? Linen is all the rage in Paris. And Daddy won't pay off my maxed out credit card so I can go shopping. Not until I promise to be more responsible. Whatever that means."

The teacher called the class to order, and we were all spared further flutterings over the new boy. I wondered who he was. That her dreamy boy and my beautiful one were the same was ludicrous. And besides I would never see mine again.

My hand went to my hair, a ratty bun of filth, it had been a long time since I had bathed. I might be respectably dressed, but the rest of me was a fright. Though she was far more deserving than I, I couldn't quite wish the petite blond luck in her pursuit of the new campus hottie.

The next day passed, and then another. I went to my classes grateful even to be able to sit through Philosophy. I didn't fall asleep and I took notes. As if by magic, suddenly I was no longer the most interesting thing on campus. I had been able to eat in the cafeteria without hearing my name even once. No stares greeted me in the quads. I had slipped under the radar once again. If only it could sway Monsieur Conne.

As I walked across campus, I couldn't help but feel a presence, a pair of eyes off to the side of the thoroughfare, watching me. In my own despair over getting expelled, I had completely forgotten what had gotten me into this predicament in the first place. Had DeWittier ignored my email and sent another henchman after me? I was at a loss as to what I would do. What could I do? Go with him, endure any manners of terror, or stay here and be disgracefully expelled from school? I didn't want either choice.

I couldn't ignore the tingles on my spine, or the hairs standing up on my arm at being observed. Someone was there. And I had to at least check. But there was no henchman, only the fluttering of leaves as they swirled above the pavement. I knew that someone had been there though, standing amongst the innocent trees. Who could it have been? I shook it off, or at least I tried to.

I had a few hours until my second meeting with Monsieur Conne. I decided to do my laundry. If I had to leave, at least I would have clean clothes for a while. And it would serve as a distraction. So instead, I thought about running away as I separated my darks and whites into two large piles. I could wander from town to town, taking on odd jobs, completely free. It was a very romantic idea, and for a moment I allowed myself to dream of such a trip, unfettered, free to make my own decisions, free from the oppressiveness of the faculty, free from the gossip and snide remarks of the other students.

But reality always invades. I had seen individuals who chose such a life. They were called vagrants. They were all old, no matter their age, as they endured the hardness of being homeless and friendless. And instead of working, they turned to begging, an easier source of income. They were reviled, and avoided. And all died way too young. Their few possessions would be gone before their bodies cooled. It was not a choice. Not when I was friendless already.

I folded my clothes meticulously, and left them on my bed, in neat piles, waiting to be placed into my suitcase. And it was something I would have to do that if this last meeting with Monsieur Conne turned out bad. I held onto a small bit of hope alive in my breast. If I flattered and scrapped and bowed my way before him, maybe his egoism would be touched. I wasn't wanted here, I was tainted, an adolescent killer, clumsy, and awkward. But it was the best home I had ever known! I was ready to beg for anything to keep me here, working in the gardens, or in the kitchens with the halfwits. If he would only let me stay! I wouldn't cause trouble. Maybe in time my crime would be forgotten.

I approached his office and nodded to his bubbly secretary. She was no longer friendly, her lips pinched in a tight line as she regarded me. She pointed to Monsieur Conne's open door, and I followed her direction. The jig was up.

Monsieur Conne sat as he had before, shuffling his papers around. He looked up at me as I entered, "Close the door behind you Mademoiselle Samara"

"Yes sir," my voice was small and quiet.

"I hope you have decided to be civil."

"I am sorry sir for my outburst."

"You may sit," he motioned to the same chair I had sat in before. It hadn't moved since the day I had last been here, still directly in front of his desk, where I couldn't escape his gaze, or his scowls.

He lifted a sheet of paper and showed it to me-albeit too briefly for me to see what was written on it. It could have been his grocery bill, "I have rechecked your payment records," It was obvious that from the way he was avoiding my gaze that once again, he was lying, "I'm afraid my hands are tied." He held out those same hands beseechingly. The only thing I noticed was that they appeared to be expertly manicured. "If you are gone by the weekend, we can let this all be forgotten." Meaning, he wouldn't send the authorities after me.

"Sir, I respect you decision, but isn't there a way I can work off the debt? I have free hours available in my schedule." If he was still trying to convince me that I was being kicked out because Mother Superior refused to pay him I would play along.

"You're debts are extensive…" He rifled through some more papers.

"Could I stay here anyway, work in the kitchens or the gardens? I would stay out of everyone's way. I could live in the servant's quarters. This is my home. I have nowhere else to go. I won't even try to attend classes." It was a hard offer to make, but I would stick to my decision. If only he would allow me to stay!

"We have already discussed your options Samara. I am willing to call…"

Oddly enough, the telephone at his elbow chose that moment to ring. He frowned at it, "Madame Rosé I told you not to interrupt…He said his name was what?..." I could hear the murmurings of Madame Rosé on the other side of the phone but I couldn't make out what she was saying. And Monsieur Conne was still frowning, "Alright, I suppose I can take a moment." He looked at me meaningfully, and I moved away to the window to give him some privacy.

"Hello, this is Monsieur Conne what can I do for you…I'm sorry sir, it is inadvisable…Pardon-moi?...Yes, that's what I thought you said…I'm not convinced that you understand…How much?" His voice was shocked, high and surprised. Who was he talking to? "Well sir, I'm sure we can come to some type of agreement." Monsieur Conne's voice had suddenly changed, wheedling and sniveling he had become the very same character I had just played before him. "Yes I will inform her right away!" He was downright cheerful as he put the phone back in its cradle.

His face was indifferent when he faced me again, and crooked one slim finger in my direction. "Madamoiselle Samara, return."

I did as he bid, ready for his final word, "It seems that the phone call concerned you. Due to some extenuating circumstances you will be allowed to stay."

The room was silent for a full minute as we stared at each other. My eyes shocked, his face still masked.

"Mother Superior was willing?" I finally managed to choke out.

"You have a mysterious benefactor it would seem. He was willing to pay all your debts." _And also probably offer a substantial bribe._

After a few more obligatory and empty phrases from Monsieur Conne-about his expectations for the coming year, his false joy at me continuing my studies at his revered institution-I was finally able to make my stunned escape.

'A mysterious benefactor?' I wondered who he was. I thought of everyone I knew, or that at least knew of me. Cammy's parents came to mind, I had spoken to them on the phone a couple of times when they had called for Cammy. They were friendly and interested in who I was. But we'd never had any significant conversations, I was still only Cammy's roommate. And they weren't wealthy enough, even if they _did_ care. Cammy, her brother, and another younger sister were all enrolled in boarding schools. And there were still more siblings at home. They would not be able to afford to look after me as well. There were a few teachers had treated me as a favorite, but probably not enough to anger the administration by standing up for me. So who could 'he' be? Cammy had said that Jamie was worried about me. I doubted that he would have that kind of pull.

My thoughts strangely turned to the mysterious new boy. I remembered his clothes. They had been finely made, expensively cut. Perhaps he? No that was silly. He had looked at me with such distain, with such loathing, it just wasn't possible. Even if I felt this odd connection. Even if he was the only one lately who had noticed me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It was raining cold and heavy, and I had forgotten a jacket. I dashed across campus avoiding rapidly forming puddles. I heard a loud voice, only a series of barks and mumbles coming from outside the physics building as I exited. The voice was angry, and a deep baritone, much more matured than the other male students on campus. Even before I turned to check, I knew who it was.

One arm was waving wildly as he gestated and dictated to whoever was on the other end of the pay phone. The box leaned dangerously close to the ground, with every student having a cell phone nowadays, it didn't get much use, and by the way the beautiful boy was tugging on the receiver, I figured, he might just tugged it completely out of the ground. The muscles on his arms weren't even strained as the phone box swayed and leaned. It looked as weak as a sapling against a hurricane's breeze. Insatiable curiosity overwhelmed me. Who _was_ this mysterious new transfer student?

He looked at me suddenly. His lips curled up and I backed up a few feet. He had caught me staring. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed on me before he returned to his conversation, his voice suddenly stilted and quiet. Did he think that I could hear his conversation? That I was even interested? _So what if I actually was!_ Was he really that egocentric? And why was it that whenever I saw him, he appeared so offended by my presence?

I got my response once I returned to my room and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a tangled mess of coarse curls and I was dripping on the floor. My clothes were covered in mud. I looked like a drowned poodle. I sighed and turned away.

The answering machine light was blinking again and my stomach dropped. What if Monsieur Conne had changed his mind again? "Hey Samara, it's Cammy." Her voice sounded a little annoyed, but to me, it was the most beautiful thing I had heard in a long time. "It's like you've dropped off the earth. I talked to Wes last night." She paused, and I could hear a muffled conversation going on in the back ground. Then her voice was back, impossibly merry, "Jamie's worried about you. Call him. Good luck!" I heard dial tone and the message clicked off. The phone was directly across from the mirror. I could see my bedraggled appearance still. If Jamie saw me now…I could only imagine that his reaction would be much the same as the beautiful boy's.

Something had to be done. I might not be in the same league as the beautiful boy but a very nice, adequately handsome, and very real boy was apparently interested in me. Now I just had to be sure not to scare him off with my less than stellar looks.

First things first, I ate. The first meal I'd had in days. Nothing too filling, but it wasn't often that I indulged in my favorite, ham, cheese, and butter baguette sandwich for dinner. It tasted good once again especially with the extra butter oozing out the sides.

I took a long hot shower deep conditioning my hair, and then carefully rolled it into tight rollers. When I awoke in the morning it would be curly and as sleek and soft as I could make it. I scrubbed my face with some of Cammy's facial cleansers. I even exfoliated.

I called Jamie and set up a date for the next day. He was enthusiastic. I felt better.

I went to bed early, my ear buds firmly in my ears, classical music playing softly. I cleared my mind, stubbornly refusing to think about anything stressful, especially not the dead man. Unbidden my mind drifted to the beautiful boy. I tried to think of Jamie instead-his friendly eyes, his thickly muscled arms-but as I succumbed to sleep, my brain stopped obeying. Suddenly before me was the beautiful boy with raven looks and a soft smile touching his lips as he looked at me.

All this effort that I had convinced myself was for Jamie? Yeah, it was really for the beautiful boy. Twice I had been shunned by him because of my imperfect appearance. I would not let it happen again! I had improved my appearance in a juvenile attempt to show him how I attractive I could be. It had nothing to do with Jamie.

The next morning, I examined my reflection. My face was clean and firm, my eyes were no longer puffy, emphasizing my long thick eyelashes and bright black eyes: my two best features. My hair fell in silky curls half way down my back. My bangs hid my awkward forehead. I looked good. Take that beautiful boy!

My shoulders back, my head high, I walked into my Philosophy class in the most expensive outfit I owned , expertly washed and pressed. I tripped immediately on the door jamb because sitting in my usual seat and looking anywhere but at me was the beautiful boy with a look of abject boredom on his face.

My sleepy musings hadn't done him justice. Even with my careful preparations there was no way I would ever be up to his standard. I was desperate to get as far away from him as possible. It was futile, but I found myself looking around for a rock I could hide under. Instead I heaved a sigh and looked for a new seat across the room.

The private school I attended was subsidized by very generous donors. We had large and very modern classrooms. Seating was staggered, much like the seating in popular football stadiums. All the seats were arced around a central lecture point. My philosophy class was probably one of the largest, a mix of upper and lower classmen all trying to complete their humanities requirements.

My usual seat—cruelly pilfered-was on the second row, directly facing the door and beside one of the windows, so I could daydream about the great out of doors if the lecture got too boring. The room only had windows on one side. My new chair was still sunny enough, but from this distance I could only make out the vague outlines of the trees. I might as well be in Outer Mongolia in the middle of a sandstorm.

I plunked in my newly appointed seat, at the perfect angle to view the beautiful boy. I scowled at him. Come on, look at me! See how unaffected I am by your perfection! But he didn't turn, and his eyes studiously avoided my darkened corner. A rung lower than my anger, he was indifferent.

I could do that. So…indifference. Here I go, being indifferent. I pulled out a pen and set in on my desk. I adjusted the angle. Now it was perfectly parallel with the top and bottom of the desk. I refused to look up, my face passive.

I pulled out my notebook and turned to a fresh page. It had rolled a bit at one corner. I worked at it, conscientiously smoothing it, trying to straighten it out. Look at me! The model of indifference. I wonder if he…No! Not looking. Still indifferent. And bored. I usually people- watched before class started but I couldn't do that today for obvious reasons.

I pulled out the 3 inch thick Philosophy textbook. Plunk! It hit my desk louder than I had expected and I jumped. Both of my kneecaps hit the underside of the wooden desk and I uttered an expletive as sharp pain coursed through the one on the left. Loudly, too. I reddened in embarrassment as I heard a few chuckles. For a second there I had forgotten where I was. My eyes flew up. Of course they traveled first to the beautiful boy.

He still wasn't looking at me, but his shoulders were shaking as if in silent laughter. Why that…! I lowered my head and opened my book to Ancient Roman Philosophy. I wouldn't look at him again. I tried to read the words of the first paragraph. I lost my place, and had to start over. Okay, that paragraph had been about? Drat, well third time is the charm.

A snicker sounded. I ignored it. Couldn't be for me. I was pretty sure I was pulling off the nonchalance thing rather well. There must be something else going on in the room. Don't look up! Or, at least not until I've finished this page. My eyes began skimming the words at an alarming rate. I didn't have a clue as to what I was reading. The snickering began again.

I couldn't help it I swear. I looked up and into a pair of familiar black eyes. Except this time they weren't scowling. They were ringed with amusement. The owner was laughing. At me! I looked around just in case. Perhaps there was something funny going on behind me. I was alone in my corner. The snickering got louder, his eyes didn't waver from my own. He was definitely laughing at me. I glowered at him. He kept snickering. He was no longer my ideal romantic hero. He was a jerk! A heroes' antithesis.

I waved his attention away from me with one hand, a quick flick of my wrist. He shook his head, still laughing. With wide sweeps of both hands, I indicated that he should turn around and face forward all the while my mouth set firm in a determined scowl, my eyes narrowed. He snorted, his snickers erupted into loud guffaws, but at least he faced forward.

"What's got into her?" I heard a low murmured voice from nearby. Right, the other students would be here by now. Great way to add to fuel to the fodder, Samara. My scowl deepened as I regarded the back of the beautiful boy's head. It was all _his_ fault.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

I had nodded off in Philosophy; only once surprisingly especially with how sleep deprived I was. I gathered my things after the bell rung, the room silent as a tomb. I didn't check to see if I was alone. I knew I was. As I left the room my eyes blinked rapidly as I tried to reacclimatize them to the bright sunshine.

I settled on a manicured lawn near a cluster of trees, even if the day was cold I wasn't going to miss out on the warming presence of the sun. It was the perfect day to read outdoors. Being November it wouldn't be an option for much longer. I was supposed to meet Jamie today for lunch at the Student Union, a slightly more upscale eatery than the Cafeteria. I checked my watch. 10:31. I had just under an hour until I had to be there.

I pulled out the novel we had been reading for literature class. _Madame Bovary_. I had read it before of course. Most French children had. It had been particularly forbidden at the orphanage. Nothing therefore had been more enticing. I would need a refresher since my literature teacher had threatened a quiz in the next couple of days.

I had just read about Madame's first meeting with the rakish Rodolphe when the wind suddenly blew harshly, ruffling my curls and wrinkling my pages. I shivered. The sun had disappeared behind a large cloud cluster.

I had gotten caught up in the prose forgetting where I was. My eyes canvassed the campus as I had been prone to do after my encounter with DeWittier's minion. Being out in the open and so unsuspecting made me nervous. Anyone could have snuck up on me.

I looked around. A few scattered groups of terminale students were chatting outside the art building. They looked as cold as I was, though they were making no moves to head back indoors. The Physics building was deserted, and I was alone on my lawn…wait. Ten yards away among the trees was the back of a black haired boy wearing a familiar blue button up shirt. What was HE doing here?

To be fair I suppose he had every right to be here, I didn't own the trees or the grass-they were public property-but he was so close to me. It made me feel uncomfortable somehow. Did he have to invade my personal bubble so zealously? Again? My lip curled up, and I put my book away. I wouldn't be able to concentrate anymore. I comforted myself with the reminder that at least if HE was here it meant I would be free at the student union.

I checked my watch. Even if I walked very slowly I would be too early for my date with Jamie. That would make me look eager. I didn't think I wanted that. I faltered back and forth, playing with the strap on my bag. Ultimately, it couldn't be helped. I liked Jamie. He was a nice guy. He liked me. There was nothing wrong with being eager, right? It was much better than sharing the out of doors with beautiful boy.

The student union was just starting to get busy when I arrived. As a rule, most classes ended by 11:30 and didn't start again until 1:00. The student union was set up like a café, with booths instead of the long folding tables in the cafeteria. The food was better too. More expensive than the cafeteria, but occasionally it was worth it to splurge. It had picture windows on three sides, and the lighting was always bright and cheery, giving it a very friendly atmosphere. It was a great place to relax or do homework assignments.

I found a seat in an unobtrusive corner and pulled my book back out, getting sucked back into the story immediately. Thoughts swirled around in my head tempting me as I searched for answers. How was Monsieur Bovary so oblivious? Not to notice the expensive gowns, the other lovers that his wife had. She wasn't exactly good at hiding it. Was he that much in love with her that it had all passed him by? Or was Emma Bovary as tragic a case of realism as Flaubert imagined?

I was so wrapped up, seeing the novel for the first time with adult eyes instead of just as a titillating adolescent that it took a moment for me to register a finger tapping on my shoulder. I looked up at Jamie towering over me, smiling quietly. I checked the wall clock, since it was more unobtrusive than looking down at my watch. He was 5 minutes early. Perhaps this was a bad idea. I had only arrived in the cafeteria earlier to avoid certain unpleasant persons. I flung that thought aside. This was Jamie! He was kind, attractive, and friendly. I liked Jamie. Didn't I?

I tried to conjure up some excitement. Ready. Be excited! I grinned at him. I worried I had shown far too many teeth, "Should we get some food?" Way to state the obvious Samara. Why did I always feel like such an idiot around boys?

Jamie didn't appear to notice, he held out his hand to me. I took it. His palm was firm and warm, "Let's go then."

No one made a sound as we walked to the counter hand in hand I think they were intimidated by Jamie. I could feel curiosity pouring off them in waves though. I looked up at Jamie. For those who didn't know how nice he could be, he would certainly be intimidating.

"Can I help you?" asked the lady at the counter.

I ordered soft whole wheat bread with a bowl of French onion soup, and Jamie selected a Croque Madame, a fried ham and cheese sandwich with a sunny side up egg on top. He didn't let go of my hand as we each took our selections, even though it was a bit awkward walking back to the table with only one free hand to balance my tray.

He sat across from me and we smiled awkwardly at each other for a moment. "Oops! Forgot my drink." I headed back to the counter. I looked over my selections long and hard reminding myself that I liked Jamie He was a nice guy. Dating him shouldn't be this difficult.

Finally I selected a bottle of Fanta and turned around to go. I was stopped short immediately. Once again there was the beautiful boy where I had least expected him, sitting behind the small condiments area looking very bored and staring off into space, not very far from where Jamie was seated. My own personal stalker apparently. Wasn't there anywhere I could go that he wouldn't follow?

A feeling suddenly grasped at me: Fear. I should be scared. After my encounters with DeWittier, I should have been expecting someone else to show up. I knew there was the possibility that he would ignore my email. Perhaps the beautiful boy was another henchman. It made sense. I purposely looked away, my eyes resting on Jamie's hulking form. The beautiful boy was nothing to him. While the last henchman had been solid as a rock, the boy, now studying the ceiling tiles, wasn't in the least bit intimidating when compared to Jamie. With Jamie I would be safe. The beautiful boy was nothing but an annoyance. Like a mosquito, Jamie would squash him. So I wasn't scared. At least not then.

I looked over at Jamie again, already eating, wolfing down the Croque Madame and eying my own meal cooling in front of him. He wouldn't eat it would he? His eyes were glazed over, hungry. His hands gripped his sandwich making it look so small and fragile. The muscles in his neck contorted as he took gigantic bites from his sandwich and chewed them languidly. Anyone else would have choked by trying to eat that much food at once.

Jamie looked up, probably sensing my stare and smiled before waving me over. That was nice. He enjoyed my company. This could work, I decided as I moved back to my seat. I tried to act normal. But I was failing. I was laughing harder at Jamie's jokes; I was fawning over him, flirting heavily.

I couldn't forget the presence directly behind me. Always there, yet always indifferent. It was, irking. How could he always manage to show up everywhere I was, and then act like it was a coincidence? What was he trying to do?

Strike that, what was _I_ doing? "Oh Jamie that is so funny!" Was that really my voice? "Tell me more." And that was me too!

It was impossible to act normal when I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head. Of course now he would look when I was so determined to ignore him. I resisted the urge to look behind me.

Well for a while anyway, but like an itch, the longer I ignored it, the more it pulsed and tempted me to scratch. I shot a quick look over my shoulder. He was looking away again, though I was sure just a moment ago his eyes had been fixated on me. There was something off about him too. His shoulders were tensed, his jaw clenched. If I had to guess I would say that he was scowling, But I had seen him scowl before. This one was different. Annoyance…anger perhaps? He had hardly touched his food. Perhaps it had disagreed with him? He was in for a long year then. The food at the Student Union was the best on campus. But instinctively I knew that wasn't it. Just like I knew that him appearing everywhere I was wasn't just a coincidence. I was flirting with something dangerous by not ignoring him.

Jamie was telling me a story about his summer trip to the lake with Wes, "And there was this little kid, couldn't be more than 4 years old. He got away from his mother and jumped into the lake. He couldn't swim and he started to drown. I pulled him out."

"That's nice." I turned back to Jamie who was looking at me oddly. He had obviously expected a different response. I had barely heard what he said, my brain buzzing with questions.

Who was he? Why was he here? Why did it feel like we were connected? Amongst those questions, an epiphany struck, and things became very still. I wasn't interested in Jamie. Here I sat across from him and I couldn't stop thinking about somebody else. It didn't really matter who the beautiful boy was, I was fixated on him. Even if he was mysterious, or perhaps _because_ he was, I couldn't seem to get him out of my head.

It wasn't supposed to be that way. I was here on a date with Jamie. I should be dreaming about him. Hanging on to his every word. I hadn't even exchanged a word with the other boy. I didn't know a thing about him. Jamie didn't deserve my inattention. In another time, another place, there might have been a chance for us. But not now.

On the walk back to my dorm room, I kept my distance from him, staying as far away as I could without straying off the sidewalk and into the grass. It was exaggerated, but after that weird lunch, I couldn't risk giving him the wrong impression again. I felt like I was walking to my doom, approaching the moment everyone dreads: the awkward talk about defining the relationship. My heart was pounding. What could I say? How could I explain that I just needed us to remain friends without sounding horribly cliché?

Something itched at the back of my mind, reminding me that my life was dangerous now. I couldn't remain friendless. Not with a stalker following my every move. But what could I say? What could I do? I was scared to death. Jamie was walking stiffly beside me. He knew exactly what was about to happen. He stopped at my door and turn towards me, his eyes intently staring at the ground, his hands clenched at his sides, "Sam?" Uh oh. Here we go. "What's going on with you? You're hot and cold. One minute I think you're really into me, the next you are pulling back."

"Jamie," my voice cracked. I cleared my throat, "I think you are great."

His palm flew up, stopping me, "Spare me the 'It's not you, it's me speech!'"

I was relieved that he hadn't made me say it. "Can we still be friends?"

His breath came out suddenly in one angry snort and he finally looked up at me, his pale blue eyes darkened in anger, "No, I don't think so." He looked at me for a long moment, making me feel horribly guilty, "Goodbye Samara." He walked away, and he didn't look back. I know because I watched him go.

I felt awful. Almost like I was the one who had just gotten dumped. I suppose in a way I had. I opened the door to my room. It was dim from the approaching storm. Outside, the clouds were black and ominous. The message indicator was blinking frantically on the phone. It was probably Cammy again. I dropped my bag and then pushed the button,

"Miss Samara, my name is Charles DeWittier. I believe we have much to discuss." I didn't hear the door open, I didn't hear anyone enter, but suddenly a black bag was over my head and I was jerked back and held tightly against a strong chest. I gasped in fear. The beautiful boy! It had to be. Who else had been watching me? Following me so closely? Too late! I had let his pretty face lull me into a sense of security. And stupid girl that I was, I had pushed Jamie away. I was alone and unprotected.

DeWittier began speaking again, "Please be so kind as to accompany my associate to a late afternoon meeting." I breathed frantically. This was worse than anything I had experienced before black surrounded me and my deep breathing pounded painfully in my ears. I had always been slightly claustrophobic. I closed my eyes but it didn't help. I could still feel the coarse cloth sticking against my sweaty face. The beautiful boy's strong arms suddenly gripped my torso digging painfully into my ribs and began dragging me towards what I assumed was my door. I struggled against him, clawing and kicking my arms reaching out frantically trying to grab at anything to stop my progress. Mr. DeWittier giggled, a high pitched laugh, something more suited to a little girl. It gave me the chills. It was as if this was some type of choreographed game to him. As if he knew every move I would make and had planned accordingly.

I kicked out again, and heard a grunt. I didn't have time to revel in my success, immediately thereafter I felt something prick my neck. Hot freezing fire coursed through my veins and my head started to buzz. I kept struggling, but the harder I tried, the heavier my arms and legs became. My energy was lessoning as if it was being sucked from me. What had he done to me? I felt like I was being pulled away from reality as the burning intensified. Then everything was still.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

I awoke to a sharp smell burning my nostrils. It smelled like ammonia. My eyes opened. A face was peering into mine. It was a man and he was holding an uncorked vial in his hand. I stared at it quizzically, "It's ammonia."

I would recognize that voice anywhere. It was DeWittier. I tried to sit up, my head had just lifted when everything started to spin. DeWittier pushed me back to the seat, "No, don't get up yet. The drug is very powerful. It's used to tranquilize elephants. I discovered it when I hunted for big game in Africa."

"I'm flattered," my voice was dry and scratchy.

He laughed, "Such spark, we are going have fun together."

I didn't like him hovering over me like that. I tried to climb to my feet but they refused to cooperate, "What did it do to me?"

"Just incapacitated you for a bit. Makes you easier to transport. With the spirit you have, I fully expect to use it again," he added in a light voice. He was speaking about me as if I wasn't there, or as if I couldn't understand the language. It was almost as if I was some type of animal. Like the elephant he had already compared me to. I tried not to show the terror I felt at discovering that I meant so little to him. If he didn't think I was human, what did that mean for me?

Horrifying thoughts were running through my head. Me strapped and restrained on a surgical table. Bright lights burning into my retinas. Getting poked and prodded by an evil scientist and screaming in agony while DeWittier looked on passively as if I was some type of lab rat or science experiment, I shuddered.

DeWittier laughed again, that high pitched girly laugh, "Now don't be too worried, if you cooperate I'll make this as painless as possible." Somehow I doubted that. He seemed like the type that enjoyed torturing animals.

"But I don't…"

His face darkened and he interrupted me, "Yes I read that nonsense email you sent me. It took a while for my secretary to forward it along." He muttered to the side, "Stupid woman." He grinned at me with a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth, "Don't worry, everyone gives in, eventually." My seat jerked just as he finished speaking and my stomach plummeted to my shoes.

For the first time I looked past DeWittier to my surroundings. We were in a car or to be more precise a limousine with tan, butter soft, leather interior. DeWittier must have noticed my preoccupation, "We are in my limousine. Or one of my limousines I should say. I have several. I thought we could go on a little drive. Perhaps if you see how the other half lives it would influence your choice." Was he trying to bribe me? I didn't know anything, so the intended bribe was meaningless. It was no use thinking of the 'what ifs.'

"I have already exercised considerable influence over your future, getting that ridiculous Monsieur Conne to allow you to continue your education. You could say that you belong to me now."

"I can take care of myself," but my voice was unusually hollow even to myself. So it had been him. I had never considered that. But why?

It was almost as if he could hear my private musing, he giggled again, "Yes, it would have been interesting to see what you would have done if you'd had to live on the streets. I enjoy a good tragedy. But I needed you where I could find you. Can't let you out of my sights for a moment," he clucked like a mother hen.

"That's sick." And it was, my stomach was revolting.

"I suppose some might say that, but I've never been interested in anyone else's opinion but my own."

I turned purposely away from him and looked out the window. The car was moving smoothly through the streets of a busy town. The signs were in French. I was infinitely relieved. At least I was still someplace familiar.

We weren't driving that fast. Perhaps I could escape. I tried the door, and heard that gratingly girlish giggle again, "I didn't make my billions by being stupid. We're locked in."  
I started to sweat as the realization of my situation was finally sinking in. I was being kidnapped and I had no viable way out! And back at school there was no one who would notice I was gone. Not even Jamie. He had made it perfectly clear that he wanted no further contact with me. And Cammy was too far away. I was on my own.

"So Miss Samara. You are going to tell me what I want to know." My mouth was dry. I swallowed painfully. "Still feigning ignorance are we?"

"No," I croaked.

DeWittier looked at me for a long moment, unblinking, his gaze unwavering. Like a predator preparing to pounce. I blinked and his facial expression was passive once again.

He settled back in his seat, "For centuries you have successfully evaded mankind, keep your secrets from us. Knowledge that should rightfully be ours. We're stronger, smarter, and we breed much faster. We are the dominate species. Yet, selfishly you have refused us. At Shang-ri La and Bimini. In Ancient Arabia you turned Alexander the Great away. What made him so undeserving?" He shook his head before continuing, "You dared to deny us again in Ethiopia!

"You've always been one step ahead: Until now. I finally have one of you. I am a very powerful man. You are a young weakling. You are no match for me. You will tell me what I want to know." His voice was firm, unyielding. He was a man not used to disappointments.

I shook my head, "I really don't know…" He struck me across the face, the blow forced my head back against the headrest and my teeth clattered together. I cowered in my seat.

He really was insane! It was too fantastic. It was a myth, like believing in the tooth fairy, or that leprechauns and their pots of gold waited at the end of rainbows. A healthy dose of realism had been engrained over the years living in the orphanage. The nuns had tried their best, but still children had gone hungry. Still they had died from the influenza years after the cure had been discovered.

Eternal life? Not possible. "The only immortality I know about is that after death thing," I said, trying to sound flippant. It was all I could remember from the years of forced theology.

His face contorted with rage, and it stayed that way. I molded my body as far into the seat as I could, "The time for nonsense is past. If you won't tell me how to become an immortal, then perhaps I will have to persuade you to at least tell me where the others are." He pulled from his pocket a thick syringe filled with an evil looking liquid. The car stopped. I heard the click of the lock disengaging as DeWittier advanced towards me, "Perhaps you'll be a little more compliant under less opulent circumstances."

I didn't wait, I threw open the door and jumped. An arm grabbed me from inside. DeWittier! I kicked backward with one foot and heard a grunt of pain, but still the hand restrained me. I turned on my heel clawing and spitting like a feral cat. My nails scraped across his face just as I felt a small prick on my thigh. I jerked away but not before I felt a small surge of the hot freezing fire once more though not as strong as before. He hadn't had enough time to inject the full dose, I had moved just in time. Without thinking, I raised his hand at my wrist and bit down as hard as I could. He howled and his grip slackened just enough for me to wretch free of him.

I could feel a mist beginning to settle over my senses, slowing all my processes, clouding my judgements, but I dashed away anyway. I ran as fast as I could desperate for freedom, my feet pounding on the sidewalk of a town I suddenly recognized. Tours, France. I had always loved the city, especially on market days, peddlers hawking their wares, calling clearly into the crowds, and the smells of fresh bread mixed with the spiciness of flowers. Now it seemed like a prison, tall trees on one side of the sidewalk, ancient imposing buildings that never ended on the other. I was pretty sure I was headed towards the center of town and towards La Policie, the main police station.

At least I hoped I was. My vision was blackening at the edges, I was starting to lose consciousness. I heard footsteps behind me. No! He couldn't have caught up with me so fast. I pushed my feet harder. I could not be caught again.

Suddenly and without warning I hit a hard surface and my neck jerked back. I heard and felt an intake of breath. I looked up into eyes of black fire, burning with rage. But not at me, his anger was directed at something behind me. "You!" I expostulated. I lost consciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

I dreamed: A painful dream. My arms and legs were held, not by a captor, but as if by incredible exhaustion. As if they had outlived their lifespan. I couldn't move but I could think, and my brain whirled without a determined topic in mind, like busy bees, it buzzed and worked, and made me completely dizzy. Where was I? Who was I? Why couldn't I see a thing? And then I could. In front of my eyes was a face, grizzled, grey. DeWittier! My terror was reflected back at me from his face. Shock, revulsion, and terror were all there. Possessed by its own strength, because I certainly didn't command it, my arm reached forward, and encountered a surface, cold and hard. And reflective. I was DeWittier!

When I came to, I could feel the breeze on my face and smell the familiar aroma of pines trees. I could feel the firmness of the earth pressing into my back through the thinness of my blouse. I struggled to open my eyes, each eyelid as heavy as lead.

I could see the tops of trees. I could hear the buzzing of insects, loud and unfamiliar to me. After some effort I managed to push myself up to my elbows. I was surrounded by tree, growing wild and free, protecting ferns and wildflowers from the elements. There were bees buzzing hungrily around the blooming lupine. It was an idealic spot, something perhaps I would have enjoyed, but something was gnawing at me. Where was I? How did I get here?

A memory, fuzzy and distant of me running through the streets of Tours, the feeling as my neck snapped and I looked up into a face. _His_ face. But I wasn't in Tours anymore. Beyond the buzzing of bees, and the swaying sounds of the trees, there were no car horns, no wheels traveling across gravel, no children's laughter, no chastising adult chatter. I looked behind me, perhaps I could catch sight of a road. I could use that as some type of guide to find my way back to the city. But there was no road, no fences, nothing to indicate civilization.

I was not alone in the trees however. Standing a distance away, looking completely calm and unruffled was the beautiful boy, my own personal stalker. His hands were in his pockets, he faced away from me as the breeze blew through his hair. I checked around again, just to be sure. He and I were the only two people in this grove. My brow furrowed. There was no vehicle, how had we gotten here? How much time had passed? I looked at him hard, studying him. He was still facing away from me towards the setting sun. Did he know I was awake? If he did he seemed pretty unfazed by that. He must know what I was; what I had done. I wondered what he thought about that. What he was thinking. All this time that I had been fixated on him, all this time that I had spent thinking about him and he was a complete stranger to me. Was he friend or foe? I needed answers.

"Who are you?" I asked, surprised at my own candidness.

He turned slowly, his eyes digging into mine, that familiar and asinine smirk on his face, "That doesn't matter. All your questions will be answered later by someone more knowledgeable than I am." He started to turn away again still relaxed, still unaffected.

It was my turn to smirk as I tried to regain ground, "No genius. What's your name?"

He blushed crimson and I inwardly crowed in triumph, "Oh, uh, I'm Kershean."

Kershean. It was an odd sounding name, like nothing I had ever heard before. He was dark and tall like a Slav. But somehow not. Then again, 'Samara' was just as unusual. He and I seemed to share that peculiarity. It didn't seem to ingrain me to him. "I have about a million questions."

Hi eye remained steady on the pink and orange rays of the setting sun, "I'm sure you do, they will be answered in time. Now we must go. Charles DeWittier will be coming soon." Something about the way he said it made me very nervous. Were we to meet the madman?

"Do you know him?"

"We've had dealings." And that sounded even more cryptic. What was this 'Kershean's' agenda? Did he work for DeWittier as I suspected? Or could he be something much worse: A more competent madman with his own agenda?

This Kershean had appeared at my school a scant 7 days ago, attending classes just like every other student, eating at the Student Union, acting the part. I had taken him for granted. And just as I had started to suspect him of something nefarious perhaps, he had set himself up as my rescuer, yanking me from DeWittier's clutches. Giving me another reason to trust him.

My eyes darted around the grove looking for an escape. Kershean spoke immediately though he didn't turn, "I guarantee I'm faster than you are." How had he known? It made me all the more suspicious. "The sun has set. It will be better for us to move through the dark tonight. Let's go."

His long legs began striding away in a direction that only he understood. He didn't look back to see if I was following. He just kept moving. Any moment now and he would be lost from my view.

After another moment of indecision, I followed. He knew where we were. I did not. I did know that I would get hopelessly lost if I set off on my own. And, I didn't doubt Kershean when he said he could catch me if I tried to run away. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of his temper when that happened. I looked at his broad and very capable shoulders and shuddered; I definitely wouldn't want to see him angry. He would have to sleep eventually, he would have to. That would give me enough time to get away. For now, I was probably safer with him than anywhere else. He had yet to threaten me. In fact, he barely acknowledged me. That suited me fine.

Kershean moved like a cat through the forest, his footfalls nearly silent. My own feet were entirely the opposite, for every rock and pile of leaves he ghosted over, I managed to kick and crunch my way through as I hurried to keep up with him.

I had just stumbled over a particularly loud pile of pinecones when Kershean turned to me suddenly, "Please be quieter." His voice was flat. He turned away and began walking again. Though I noticed albeit reluctantly that he had slowed a bit. I rolled my eyes behind his back.

The dark blue of night was creeping in, and beneath the staunch trees, it was even darker, making it hard to see where I was going across the black of the forest floor. I concentrated on my pure white tennis shoes, the color burning into my eyes as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I must have been focusing too hard, because I completely missed the bigger picture and walked headlong into a pine bough. It tore across my cheek leaving a stinging trail in its wake. I gasped in pain and looked up eyeing it with distaste.

"You're not very graceful are you?" Kershean's voice taunted from somewhere up ahead. I jumped and he made an odd kind of a sound something between a groan and a laugh.

I instantly bristled and my hands flew to my hips. "If you mean that I can't see in the dark like most normal people, then yes I guess I'm not very graceful," I countered acerbically. I was breathing heavy, and I'm sure my cheek was bleeding.

"Your eyes will learn to adjust with time," was all he said.

"What does that mean?" I threw up my hands in disgust. This boy was worming his way through my last nerve.

"All of your questions…"

"Yes I know," I interrupted. "They will be answered in time." I mimicked his deep voice.

We glared at each other through the expanse. He rolled his shoulders menacingly, but I was too tired, and too annoyed to back down. I glared at the wrinkle between his eyebrows, avoiding his eyes that were burning with fury. So he didn't like to be teased? I stored that one away for later.

"We must keep moving," his voice was terse now.

"I'm not going another step without some answers." I set my feet, jutted out my chin and rigidly stood my ground.

Suddenly his face loomed in front of me, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed. I refused to be intimidated. I could feel his breath, coming out in angry snorts, hot air, burning at my cheeks. I was about to comment on that when he finally spoke up, "Fine, one question, but I reserve the right to decide if I will answer it or not."

_What an angel._ "Three," I held up three fingers trying to bargain.

He looked me over, from head to toe, his upper lip curling back in disgust, "I could just carry you. Sling you over my shoulder." I could tell that he would enjoy that about as much as I would.

I accepted defeat, "Fine, one question." I thought about everything he wasn't telling me, and everything I thought I deserved to know. I thought about his clause. One question. My mind was swimming, drowning in the possibilities. Was he under orders from DeWittier? Or was he acting on someone else's authority? What was his plan? Would we be stopping for dinner? I finally settled on one, "Where are we going?" It was innocuous sounding enough with a wide range of possible answers. Maybe he would let something slip.

"We go to our people." Then again, maybe not. DeWittier was definitely not my people. So his answer didn't make any sense. Was Kershean with the Englishman, or not?

"Our people?" I asked without thinking.

"That's a second question. I said I would only answer one. We will go on now. Try to watch where you are going."

I couldn't help it, even if it was incredibly childish. I stuck my tongue out at his back. Not like he could see it anyway. He snorted darkly. Okay, maybe he _could_ see it. I amused myself by imagining that he was really some kind of freak of nature with eyes in the back of his head. But the blankness of amusement could only last for so long before the questions began nibbling at me again. An errant thought was among them. What if Kershean wasn't with DeWittier? All this time I had just expected and accepted it, biding my time until I could escape. But if it was the opposite, what would that mean for me.

I started with the only thing I had. "Our people," what could it mean? It was a weird way to talk about nationality. It almost dictated some type of kinship or family. A tribal unity like what existed among the American Indians. A knowledge of their shared ancestry. In Europe, the same type of harmony existed amongst the fabled but very real traveling groups of gypsies. They still maintained their nomadic nature, not tied down by home, only by group unanimity.

As a child I had entertained the notion that perhaps my father was the gypsy king. The leader of a strong band of righteous man. With rings in both ears, a saber at his belt, and thick black boots on his feet, he had charged towards his enemies, only to be forced to retreat in defeat. In his last moments of freedom, he had sent me to safety before he had been captured and made a slave by the evil usurpers. Through a mix-up I had ended up in the orphanage instead of the tall and ancient tower that I had always imagined would be a more suitable prison for a princess. But one day he would be free, and he would come find me, rescuing me the evil Mother Superior and her spoiled food, and broken water heater. And side by side we would recapture his throne and live happily ever after.

And then the day I had always dreamt of came. Just after mass, Mother Superior gathered us together and told us of vagrants that would soon be passing through the village and how we must at all costs avoid them. As soon as the word gypsy escaped her lips, I was hooked. My family was finally coming for me. They would finally see me for who I was. The rags would rend in two and I would emerge as a butterfly from her cocoon.

The morning of their arrival came with little fanfare. As soon as the sun was out, I snuck out of the back gnarled doors of the orphanage, climbed over the fence, and ran as fast as my young legs could take me to the old dried up well, still the center of the square, where woman used to draw their water and gossip, and where men attended the executions of les aristocrates.

Usually it was quiet, but not that day. That day, I found my dreamed for gypsy family. Their skin was uniformly dark and their bodies were round. Their cheeks were merry as they sang and danced. Disappointment flooded my young heart as I realized that they didn't look anything like me. Their hair was brown, blond and red. Not a raven-haired individuals among them. I knew without checking that my body was all angles, and my face painfully thin. My skin much too pale to be one of them. They didn't welcome me with the open arms I had expected. They didn't even see me. I was a child. I had no money to give them. I was not interesting to them. They weren't my family.

Defeated, I had walked back to the orphanage and received my punishment for sneaking out: Five lashings from Mother Superior's whip. As each hit my tender skin, and I stubbornly refused to cry out in pain, a sense of realism settled over me. Dreaming was not meant for me. There was no such thing as rescue from the ivory tower. I never thought about the gypsies again. I accepted my fate, and I made plans for whatever future I could expect. But one thing I did know without a shadow of a doubt; it would be solitary.

Until now. Perhaps my father was the Gypsy King after all. Of course Kershean didn't really look like a gypsy I decided as I studied him. His hair save his bangs were cropped short, and instead of boots he wore cross trainers. So maybe my father was instead something very close to a Gypsy King. He had sent Kershean, the valiant knight, to come for me. It was heartening and exciting. After all this time to meet my family, to be home again. For the moment I forgot all about my theory of Kershean working with DeWittier. Finding my people was a much more exciting possibility. I would gladly walk across all of Europe for that chance.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

By dawn, with blisters forming on already festered and broken skin, I had changed my mind about walking all the way. I was starting to think that I wouldn't be able to take much more of this. All my excitement had worn off, "Are we going to walk the whole way?" I complained to his back as he continued moving silently through the trees. Seriously he hadn't even turned over a single leaf. I had already caused several large avalanches in the last few hours. Someday scientist would discover that global erosion was entirely my fault.

"We walk for now," was Kershean's very stoic answer. He muttered something under his breath.

"I'm not complaining or anything," I said. He snorted. Obviously he didn't believe me. I'm didn't even believe me. I continued anyway, "I could walk for days. I just need a distance," I added with false bravado.

"We will walk for now," Kershean repeated.

"Wow, what a conversationalist." I said in a pseudo voice.

He heard me anyway, "Is there a reason why you are so desperate for conversation?"

"We've been walking all night in complete silence." I shivered. "It's a bit unnerving. I, um…silence makes me nervous."

He muttered to himself again. He turned to face me looking at me again, that same piercing gaze looking me over, analyzing down to each individual cell. Finally he spoke, "We will rest if only to ensure your silence."

"I'll have you know that I can still talk whether I'm resting or walking."

"Wonderful." He propped himself up against a tree and crossed his arms. His expression was flat, indifferent.

"Why are you so determined to be rude to me? You're really making it hard for me to like you."

"I don't care if you like me." His voice had taken on a bit of expression though his face remained contrary. I _should_ have been wise, and realized that perhaps that meant something. If I wasn't supposed to like him then it probably meant that he was my enemy, and that even now we were getting closer to DeWittier.

Instead I foolishly retorted, "Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all?'"

"No."

"Neither have I!" My nostrils flared. If he wanted antagonism I would give him antagonism! I was itching to walk right up and slap him, smack that look of indifference right into the tree behind him. We faced off for a long moment. His eyes suddenly glinted dangerously at me as if he knew what I was thinking.

I turned on my heel stormed away. The pinecones under my feet crumbled to pieces as I stomped along. The sun was warming my back making me sweat. Where did he get off? I heard him half-heartedly call my name. I ignored him. The trail turned and then started a steep climb. I stopped. I huffed, I grumbled, I snarled. It wasn't enough. A pine tree stood stoutly rustling its branches. I was sure that was its version of a laugh. I gave it a swift kick, "Ouch!"

I heard Kershean call to me again with a hint of concern this time. I started to climb again. What a…? Jerk wasn't an adequate enough insult. I was sure smoke was coming out my nose as I trudged along. I grabbed a leaf and shredded it to pieces. I flung the pieces to the wind.

My blind temper was fading and I was beginning to direct the anger. I was angry at myself. Angry for once again failing under his attractive spell, forgetting how dangerous he really was. Like a fool I was letting him get to me.

My brain was whirling, conflicting thoughts at every turn. Kershean called yet again, his voice quieter, distant. I wanted to be left alone and he was really starting to annoy me. I almost yelled at him to be quiet until I remembered that I wasn't talking to him. He called again: his voice louder, insistent.

My feet were on fire, but still I moved on. Stupid boy! A calloused hand grabbed my wrist, tugging me to a stop. I was whirled around facing the direction I had come from. Kershean stood in front of me perfectly composed. I on the other hand was trying out my death glare.

It wasn't working; he didn't even flinch, "You're going the wrong way." He pointed left. "We need to begin heading southeast, towards the Alps." His eyes suddenly shifted down to look at his hand still secured around my wrist. He dropped it like it was a hot poker.

But I hardly noticed. Finally a direction and destination! "See that wasn't so hard." I smiled a winning smile. Kill him with kindness my new motto to trip him up.

It worked and I felt like I'd won the war. Or at least an important battle. He glared at me, "Do you need a rest or not?"

"Yes, thank you." I limped off into the trees away from him and towards a fallen log.

All the adrenaline from my anger had vanished leaving behind it the searing pain in my feet. I sat down and gingerly removed my shoes. My once white socks were multi-colored and grotesque with blister pus and blood. Pulling my socked feet out of my shoes had reopened a few of the sores. I could feel blood pooling between my toes. The log bobbled a bit and my feet reflexively hit the ground trying to remain balanced. I bit back a sob as they encountered the harsh forest floor.

Kershean was suddenly there. He picked up my foot tenderly and began to peel back the sock, "Why didn't you say something?"

I jerked away, "No don't! More will open." I tucked my feet under my body as best as I could.

He reached for them anyway, grabbing them before I could react, "You were just going to shove them back into the shoes then?"

I winced as he removed one sock, "That was the plan, yeah."

He inspected one foot, oozing with blood and riddled with blisters. He set it on his knee and reached for my other foot.

"What are you doing?" He was being so tender. It was doing things to my insides. I wasn't sure I liked it. I _had_ just determined to hate him. My heart was pounding hard: The traitor.

He ignored me, "I wish you would have told me about your feet sooner. This will slow us down."

And there was that attitude again. I frowned and tried to jerk my feet away.

His grip was firm, "I'll need to put a salve on it."

"Fine."

"I'll have to gather ingredients and make it first."

"Oh." Begrudgingly I admitted that it would indeed slow us down. Well to myself anyway. Like I was going to help further inflate his already bulbous ego.

He disappeared into the trees without a backward glance. I looked at my feet. They did look pretty awful. If I ever got out of this I would never walk this much again.

It was no good thinking about ifs. My stomach grumbled and I automatically thought of breakfast back at Lycée. My last moments at that institution had been shadowed and depressing, but a breakfast of du pain and marmalade would always make me smile. I thought long and hard. Today was Monday, that meant there would be apple tarts. My favorite. And someone else's: Jamie's. Kind and caring Jamie. I had messed up. Beautiful Kershean was arrogant, egotistical, and all-together too self-confident. Jamie hadn't been any of those things. For all his good looks, Kershean's soul-the part I should have focused on-was ugly. In a cruel twist of fate I had gotten exactly what I wished for, and it wasn't what I thought I wanted at all. Kershean had been treating me more like a prisoner and less like a companion. Just as DeWittier would have instructed. Kershean was my enemy. It was time I acted like it.

Deep in the recesses of my brain, an escape plan formed. I wouldn't even need to wait for him to sleep, I could leave now. My golden opportunity had arrived! He had made a crucial mistake by leaving me alone. I would make sure he regretted it.

But first I would have to put my socks and shoes back on. I eyed my fashionable footwear with distaste. I was wasting precious moments by delaying the inevitable. In quick motions I tugged on the socks and then my shoes and hissed as each blister ripped open again. My feet twinged in agony and flamed and burned, and I cringed and breathed, trying to ignore it.

Gingerly I applied pressure as I stood. Not bad, but not very good either. I wasn't sure how long I could walk. But I had to try. I contemplated my course looking down the hill I had recently climbed. Kershean would probably expect me to take the easiest trail. So it was no longer an option. I couldn't continue forward, the path only grew steeper from here. I wouldn't be able to make it very far if I had to climb. Kershean had headed off in the direction the sun rises. West it was then.

I moved away from my resting place as fast as I could. My legs were stiff for the first few steps and I wobbled unsteadily along. I remained tenacious, the muscles would relax eventually. I just had to believe. I pushed my body onward, cheering myself on, enjoying my freedom.

The euphoria could not last long though. Every step was a struggle, each one worse than the last. I had never felt such pain before. I knew that I could not stop; that if I did, I would only collapse never to move again. I shuddered to think what would happen if Kershean found me thusly.

I limped along, a half-walk/half-hop, cringing all the way. I focused on the forest floor, trying to avoid anything that would make the stinging burn of my feet any worse. I serpentined across rock outcroppings, and stepped over twigs. There were a good number of pine needles and dried leaf piles and I aimed my footfalls towards them. They offered minimal cushion, but it was better than encountering the rocks.

I was making progress and feeling quite proud of myself when I heard a noise off to my left, the sound of dried twigs snapping. I looked in that direction, low bushes and brambles blocked my sight. Perhaps it was some type of large animal? Maybe a boar or a dear? I shook my head. I didn't think that there were many large animals left in this part of France.

Dismay hit me once I realized who it had to be: Kershean! He had returned and discovered my absence. How had he caught up to me so soon? He really was faster than me. I halted. My feet were throbbing, my chest hammering from the exertion and I had nothing to show for it! I heaved a sign and my shoulders slumped. I was beaten. I was caught.

I heard a ghostly chuckle followed by approaching footsteps. It suddenly occurred to me that I shouldn't be able to hear his movements; his actions had always been so unobtrusive before. It didn't make sense. But I let it go, telling myself that he must be tired. That was likely since he would have had to move pretty fast to catch up to me once again.

I could see his silhouette approaching, shifting through the trees. I squared my shoulders and gritted my teeth. I wasn't about to look defeated. A man emerged from the trees. It wasn't Kershean.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Impeccably attired and in full camouflage, with a smirk brighter than a cat that had just made a meal of a canary, DeWittier advanced on me. He moved slowly, carefully stalking me, the most dangerous predator of all; man.

And Mr. DeWittier looked like he was quite comfortable in the role. His clothes were spotless and wrinkle-free like he had just come from a board meeting, "Ah, my dear. You certainly led me on a merry chase. But now I have you once again." He wasn't even breathing heavy. I backed away from him thinking furiously. He didn't appear to be armed, but he could have a weapon hidden somewhere. Probably that awful syringe. "You shouldn't have run. I would have made everything relatively painless, but I'm afraid that you've made me angry." The last was said in a completely level voice. He sure was hiding it well and that scared me even more.

He continued speaking, as if we were casual acquaintances and not as if he had just spent an entire fortune and several man hours tracking me down, "Sharing what you know with me will not hurt anyone. On other hand, if you aren't feeling generous," he advanced again, I backed up fast and right into a tree: caught.

His mouth was set and his eyes glowed with rage, even with his diminutive size he was extremely intimidating. The anger I hadn't heard in his voice was present in his eyes. Those wild, blazing eyes! I turned my face away searching the forest for someone, anyone to come to my aid! Empty. Kershean had given up. Left me to his boss. That much was obvious. I was alone with the madman.

"My dear, you are a beautiful girl. Wouldn't want to mar that face with an ugly scar now would we?" His hand curled up into a claw, with thick sharp fingernails facing out. I moved, trying to keep my face away from those nails.

DeWittier's hand grasped my neck and began to squeeze, his sharp fingers digging into my flesh stopping my struggling. I choked and gagged on my last remaining oxygen. Seconds as slow as days ticked by. I could feel those nails finally pierce the skin. I tried to kick, I tried to struggle but my body was no longer listening. My vision was fading, my extremities going limp, even as I tried to flail against DeWittier. So this was what it was like to die. Now I knew how Cammy felt.

Suddenly DeWittier's hand was ripped away and I heard a distant thud and felt the ground beneath my feet vibrate. My body slipped to the ground as I gasped for air Like exiting a tunnel, my vision cleared. I was met with a sight I had never expected, indeed a sight that I would have been staunchly opposed to. Kershean! He was here, fighting furiously, landing punches on the surprised face of Charles DeWittier. What did it all mean? Had he turned against his boss? It seemed so unlikely, DeWittier would have promised him anything, even the fulfillment of his wildest dreams.

Or could I have been wrong all along? I have to admit that was hard to swallow. But as I continued to watch Kershean furiously attacking, I realized it had to be the right one.

In the midst of my musings I head Kershean yell, "Run!" My eyebrows furrowed. DeWittier couldn't really run, particularly prostrate like that. "Run you idiot! While you still have the chance!" he commanded even as DeWittier flung him off.

For an old guy he sure was spry. He was on Kershean in a minute, kicking and swearing, swinging with all he was worth. Kershean took a particularly nasty punch to his side. He doubled over, gasping as DeWittier took advantage, plastering him to the ground. In a superb move, Kershean flipped the smaller man over and leapt back to his feet. "Samara! Run!"

Oh. He was talking to me. I ran, paying no attention to where I was going. Pine boughs slapped me in the face, but still I ran. I skidded over rocks an nearly fell flat several times, but still I ran, even after I couldn't heard the sounds of scuffling and fighting anymore. My lungs heaved and I didn't think I could move any faster. I was wrong. My body shuddered and I pushed myself to a new and impossible limit when I heard a scream. So ethereal, so piercing that it could only be the scream of death. I changed directions choosing a more open path, anything that would allow me to get away faster from the sound and what it meant. Death, for certain. But for whom? Could it have been DeWittier? Was I finally free from his tyranny? Or Kershean, my maybe protector. My stomach churned at the thought. I told myself that it was out of fear, though even my brain scoffed. He was an infinitely better alternative than DeWittier the psycho. No matter his plans for me.

If Kershean had been killed, I was already dead. If _he_ didn't stand a chance against DeWittier, what hope was there for me? I wondered how many DeWittier had killed before me? How many had he tormented?. My feet pounded the ground, the adrenaline masking the pain in my feet. I had to get away!

I couldn't run for much longer, already I was tiring, already, I could feel myself beginning to blackout, to lose my grip on reality. I would never be able to outrun him. DeWittier was inhuman. I needed a plan. Something to give me an advantage. Perhaps a hiding place. Yes! Somewhere to hide. I looked around. My movement through the trees had not been careful, anyone would be able to follow my path. I stopped dead and listened.

The only thing I could hear was my heavy breathing. I looked behind me. Matted down grass and torn pedals from wildflowers. My path was obvious. Even to me, a layman traveler. Tracking me would be child's play. DeWittier would have no trouble catching up to me. What could I do? I needed to think of something. It was difficult, my body was so focused on getting oxygen to my extremities that it refused to worry about anything else.

Kershean would never have had to worry about such a thing. He moved so carefully, each footstep as sure as it was invisible. I could never do that. As I breathed, I looked around me, seeing the trees, the ferns, the rocks. There was a small grasshopper hoping from rock to rock. And as oxygen finally flooded my brain I realized that I could do the same. I must have looked a sight as I played an odd kind of hopscotch game, skipping from rock to rock, avoiding the foliage and the wildflowers. One particularly nasty leap, left me biting my lip, almost drawing blood, as my feet screamed in protest. I looked behind me. I had made significant progress. My path was masked, now I only needed a hiding place.

Pine trees grew to the sky, shedding all of their lower branches. Save one standing apart, and bigger than all the rest. Big enough to climb. I had never had the opportunity to climb a tree. It couldn't be that hard right?

The first branch was about as high as my waist, but sturdy and straight. I grabbed it with both hands, looped one leg around and pulled myself up. I tried to stand and the branch under me swayed. I froze. Apparently I was afraid of heights. Ok, Sam, only a metre from the ground. I grabbed the trunk as the branch dipped dangerously again. Can never be too careful.

Another branch wasn't too far away, I shimmied my body awkwardly onto it. And slowly I made progress the branches rustled and complained under me and I tried not to look down. It didn't take long before I could go no further, the branches weren't thick enough. I was hidden behind a dense canopy of pine needles and I was several metres above the ground. I was hugging the trunk holding on for dear life. My hands were scraped, my favorite blouse was torn on one sleeve and my jeans were ripped at the knees. I shouldn't be seen unless DeWittier stood directly beneath the tree and looked up. I was safe.

The exact moment the tree finally settled from my movements I began to hear footsteps moving through the forest, directly towards me! I told myself that it could be Kershean. But logic said otherwise. Kershean would have never made noise.

I stayed absolutely still. Hopefully whoever it was would move on, following the ground instead of looking to the trees. I held my breath as a figure emerged. I couldn't see him clearly from my vantage point. My rationality told me that it was DeWittier-the figure was short, and the clothing was too bulky to be Kershean. I felt tears prick my eyes. Poor Kershean! I wanted to scream at myself for feeling pity for a boy I surely hated, but I had to remain absolutely still. Instead I thought of his sacrifice. Cut down in his prime to rescue me. Why had he done it? Yet another question that would never be answered now.

DeWittier advanced on my hiding place as if he knew right where I was. He was limping heavily relying on his right leg. If he was hurt I would have an advantage. I wouldn't let Kershean's sacrifice be in vain. I could still escape!

DeWittier moved directly under the branches, stood beside the trunk and looked up and right into my eyes. Hot relief flooded my system. It wasn't Charles DeWittier. It was Kershean dressed in DeWittier's clothes and hunched over.

"You can come down now." He called.

I didn't move, "Where's DeWittier?"

He jerked his head back towards the direction he had come. My voice was accusing, "You killed him?"

"I prefer not to kill unless I must." He spat the words out in distaste. I ignored the subtle reference to my own past actions.

"But the scream…"

"Yes he did scream, when I tied him to a tree and took his clothes. They are very nice clothes. Much better for travel." Of course they were. Leave it to Kershean to think of only himself. My clothes were dirty and now torn. We would make quite the pair as we traveled.

My relief at seeing him was melting away as I became more indignant. He was openly scowling at me, annoyed that I hadn't come out of the tree. I was starting to remember all of the things I didn't like about him. "How did you find me?"

"I could see your blouse through the branches. You shouldn't wear yellow. I saw you in the tree immediately."

I rolled my eyes. Like I had picked out my clothing with cross-country travel in mind. "I like yellow, it's a beautiful color!" I said instead.

"Yes it is a beautiful color just not for you."

I bit back a scream. If I had to stay around him much longer I couldn't be responsible for my actions. "What happened to your leg?"

He shrugged, "DeWittier is much worse off. At least I can walk." Albeit slowly. With all of my irritation back in full force, I tried not to grin in triumph. I began climbing down the tree carefully. I made a show of acting more fatigued than I felt, hoping to set Kershean off balance. I wasn't going down without a fight. He didn't deserve me making this easy for him.

My blistered feet hit a gnarled branch at an odd angle and I winced. It was all part of the act to play the helpless female, well mostly anyway. I paused at the branch closest to the ground and took a deep breath. I faced away from Kershean and jumped, hitting the ground running.

Without a bit of warning, a hard object collided into my torso, sending me flying. I skidded across the ground and felt the fabric of my blouse tear at the other elbow. Just great. Kershean flipped me over, his thighs pinning me in place, his furious face only inches from mine.

"You aren't hurt." I managed to gasp out.

He wasn't even winded, "No I'm not."

Suddenly his entire frame rested on mine collapsing my lungs, "I can't breathe." I choked.

"Good." He snarled at me, "If you can't breathe, you can't speak, if you can't speak you will finally be forced to listen. You will not escape me. I have my duty: To bring you home. Your duty is to follow. Nothing else. Do as I say and you will stay alive. Though I'm beginning to not care what my punishment would be if I just left you out here. You aren't worth it." He climbed off of me, "Get up!, we go now."

I did as I was told, completely mortified at what he had said. I was humiliated, dejected, but mostly I was angry. My eyes were flashing with dangerous energy. He was completely lucky that I had yet to perfect the art of shooting laser beams out of my eyes, a walking miracle. Even if it took me until the day I died, he would rue _this_ day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Even loosing me in the forest, fighting and defeating DeWittier, Kershean still had time to gather all of the ingredients for his salve before he caught up to me. It was annoying how good of a multitasker he was.

After threatening to tie me to a tree if I even dared move a muscle while he worked, he found a natural cup on the top of a rock and pounded a mysterious white root into it using black obsidian. His movements were sharp and strong and it didn't take long before the root was a sticky looking pulp. He added a few swollen red berries and then a couple of leaves. He went back to pounding again. Throughout all of this he refused to look at me. I sat against a tree, surly and sullen. Did he have to be so good at everything?  
Before I could blink Kershean grabbed my left foot and coated the sole in ointment. I hissed as it burned and Kershean tightened his grip as I tried to pull away. I wanted to kick him. By the time he had moved onto the other foot, the pain had dulled. From his pocket he pulled a roll of white bandages. Expertly he wrapped each foot. He carefully pushed my socks back on my feet, and then helped me put on my shoes. He laced them up double knotting them. I was speechless and touched.

Until he scowled, rose to his feet and set off without preamble, walking faster and taller than ever before. He definitely wasn't injured I thought as I plodded unsteadily along behind him. He had faked the whole thing. Jerk.

As the morning hours stretched into afternoon, and the pace didn't slow, my anger subsided and other thoughts took precedence. I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. On my ill-fated date with Jamie. My stomach grumbled. I clutched at it, "Shh, be quiet!" I murmured.

Without looking at me, Kershean pulled a wrapped bar from his pocket and tossed it over his shoulder, "DeWittier came prepared. Eat."

I unwrapped the aluminum, and eyed the granola with distaste. It looked entirely unappetizing. I tentatively took a bite, "Blech." It was barely a step up from dirt. I chewed and swallowed with difficulty.

Kershean was still walking but I couldn't help but notice that he wasn't eating. He was probably hogging all of the good stuff, because it certainly didn't look like he was starving. I didn't want to finish the rest of the granola. I wrapped it up and put it into my pocket, and walked on stubbornly. I could wait.

Embarrassingly, that didn't last long. Perhaps a hundred steps or so before my stomach gave a sickening lurch, and I dived in my pocket. Food! Perhaps now that I was really hungry, it wouldn't be so bad. "Blech." It still tasted the same. I ate it anyway, gagging and sweating.

In the heat of the afternoon, surprising because it was November, I rolled up the sleeves of my blouse. Kershean stomped onwards. He wasn't even sweating.

At dusk he finally halted beside a bubbling stream and threw another of those awful granola bars at me. I held it between two fingers. I would just save it for later. Perhaps if I found a squirrel with a death wish.

Kershean ignored me as he untied his shoes and then walked directly into the stream, his toes gripping the rocks. He turned in my direction and then slowly button by button, he removed his camouflage shirt. He reached down cupped some water in hands his and let it run down the center of his chest. And then he did it again. I was instantly riveted, the granola bar slipping from my fingers. Each muscle rippled and jerked under his fingers as he moved. Gah, perfection again! Someone in the universe was obviously having a good laugh at my expense. Kershean looked at me and smirked, one eyebrow raised in query. Jerk. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I forced my eyes away from him, looking for some place to rest, preferably facing away from the stream. That'll show him. _Sure, just keep telling yourself that._ A distance away was a rock, flat and smooth. I reclined on it, my back to the egotistical wonder. As I curled into a ball, I realized just how tired I was. If only I had remembered to bring a pillow; somehow stuffed one in my pants.

I was working through the logistics of walking around with a bulky pillow in my back pocket when, Kershean appeared directly in front of me. There was that infuriating smirk again. I shifted away from him, glowering, and pressed my lips together.

"We will rest here until the moon is out." He nodded to a clearing. He moved away, gathered up a large pile of leaves and pine needles, laid among them and promptly fell asleep. I could tell he was asleep because of his deep rhythmic breathing. If I had blinked I would have missed the entire thing.

I took the hint and tried to gather my own pile. The air surrounding the stream was getting a bit chilly. Pine needles are not easy to scrape up together. And Kershean seemed to have gotten all of the leaves. After 10 minutes I was tired and dirty and my pile was significantly smaller than Kershean's. I looked at Kershean sleeping blissfully. My hand reached towards him, perhaps I could steal a couple of leaves. But at that moment, Kershean rolled away from me over and gathered his pile closer to his still bare chest. So _not_ going there. I would have to be happy with what I had.

I rolled up into my pile, trying to copy Kershean' actions. It was awkward, and I ended up with more pine needles in my hair than covering my arms. My blouse would not be adequate coverage against the night chill. I tucked my sleeves over my hands and then folded myself into a ball. My eyes remained glued open as I listened to the sounds of the stream gurgling, owls hooting, and crickets chirping. I turned over and burrowed further into my pile, trying to block out the noises. Never again would I be annoyed to have my sleep disturbed by a car horn honking or a police siren blaring. I was exhausted, but I couldn't seem to convince my brain to take a rest and sleep. I sighed loudly, it was too dark in this forest.

Kershean's voice sounded beside me, annoyed and thick with sleep, "Stop that."

I wasn't talking to him so I couldn't exactly retort. I laid very still instead, counted 45 owl hoots, and 1247 cricket chirps. Just as the man in the moon peaked his crater eyes over the trees, I fell asleep. Just as sleep invaded, and warmth comforted, I was shaken awake by Kershean's firm hand, rather roughly I thought.

He was already standing, his shirt buttoned and neatly tucked into his pants. "Let's go." Thankfully I had left my shoes on because he was already moving away.

The moon lit our progress, its reflection shining brilliantly over the water. Kershean was moving quickly, running through the foliage hardly rusting the leaves and hopping up inclines. I was swatting mosquitos out of my face, and my hair was tangling in the overhanging bushes. I wondered what the hurry was. What were we still running from?

I watched Kershean as he crept nimbly along. If I asked him what 'eternal souls' meant would he be able to answer? My eyes narrowed. Yes, I believe he could. Whether he actually _would_ was debatable. What was the all-important secret? It was obviously crucial enough for a man like DeWittier to sit up and take notice. It appeared that I was the only one who was still in the dark. Why didn't DeWittier just deal with Kershean and leave me out of it?


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

For three days we marched, Kershean only allowed us to rest and sleep during the few hours between dusk and the moon's rising. It was a feverous pace, one that was probably designed to keep me quiet. It worked until noon on the third day. Kershean had just thrown me another one of those awful granola bars. He seemed to have an endless supply hidden in those cavernous pockets.

"I can't take this anymore!" I screeched, and stomped my foot for good measure.

"So you're speaking to me again?"

I ignored his sarcasm, "Look, we've been walking forever. You might be the wilderness king, but I'm more of a city girl. Strictly public transportation and such. I don't do bugs," I scratched a mosquito bite, "Or beds of leaves, or granola bars!" I threw the granola bar back at him, aiming for his head. He dodged easily out of the way. "I refuse to continue like this." I collapsed on the ground in what I hoped was a petulant heap.

Kershean laughed softly at my efforts, "No, I really mean it this time. You'll have to come up with some other way for us to get to wherever it is we're going." My voice was high pitched; whining. Tears were beginning to form as I blubbered. I looked away glaring at the surrounding trees, looking anywhere but at the boy in front of me.

"Are you weeping?" He sounded revolted. I didn't bother answering him.

There were quick footsteps and a moment later I was lifted into the air and slung over his shoulder, my head upside down, my arms dangling. My tears vanished instant, "What are you doing? You can't carry me like this! Put me down this instant!"

"I don't see any other option," he told me even as he hurried along. He wasn't even breathing heavy. Darn him.

The boy was relentless, minute by minute, hour by hour, he walked on, never tiring, never stopping. And I became bored of being angry. And besides, with all of the blood that pooled in my head I was feeling positively giddy. Who knew that trees looked so exciting upside down?

Gradually the sky darkened to a beautiful shade of azure, and finally Kershean stopped, dumping me unceremoniously to the ground.

"Ouch." I rubbed my sore elbow where it had banged against a protruding root.

Kershean muttered a "Sorry." I gaped, stunned. Had he just apologized? He looked around oblivious to my wide eyed stare, "We will rest here for the entire night. Tomorrow we will find alternate transportation." He paused and looked at me significantly, "The snow is coming and we aren't moving quickly enough."

He was right, about the snow I mean. That night the ground froze and in the morning, the forest leaves and grass blades were covered with a heavy frost. I refused Kershean's offer to carry me again choosing to walk instead, buoyed on by the promise of alternative transportation. And I didn't like the way he was looking at me.

The trees were thinning, broken up by wide meadows of grass. Occasionally I could see ancient and abandoned gravel trails leading off into the undergrowth. We were approaching civilization once more. At dawn, we arrived on the outskirts of a small village.

"Wait here," Kershean told me. Before I could ask why, he was gone.

I shifted from foot to foot. The morning light peeked over the roofs to smile at me. I sat down on a nearby dilapidated fence post. I could hear the bleating of sheep in the distance. Far away I could see a few farmhouses built with mud and thatched roofs. The shepherds and their flocks had already risen and were grazing in the hills.

It was too early for anyone to be up and about the town. The buildings were made of rose stucco, bright and cheery especially in the light of dawn. They were comically close together as if they had been built on top of one another. It was hard to separate the cafes with their picture windows from the tabacs and the epiceries with their double doors still securely shut. There was barely room for the small single lane street that wound in between all of it, like some kind of ruler trying to separate the chaos.

The only movement was the curl of a single fire rising from the disarray. The town baker would be the only one awake at this hour, so somewhere down there was a boulangerie. My mouth watered at the thought of freshly made baguettes. I tugged on the bottom of my blouse, and played with a loose thread, and I waited. I didn't like being alone. Such solitude made the complaints of my empty stomach that much louder.

The frost had completely melted and the grass had dried before Kershean returned. He was wheeling a Vespa beside him. I was pretty sure it wasn't his. It was dirty, well used and it was purple. Very out of place next to his manly camouflage.

The gentle murmurings of the village residents had already begun. "Did you steal that?" I tried to keep my voice low.

"I borrowed it." He pulled a thick leather jacket off the bike seat and threw it at me, "For the cold."

"You know if you didn't ask and you aren't planning on bringing it back that's called stealing," I hissed at him, refusing the jacket.

"I needed it. It was available, fulfilling that need. I won't keep it forever. I will leave it so it can be found when I am finished with it."

I looked at him shocked. Where was this guy from that stealing was synonymous with borrowing?

"You will drive." He pushed it over to me and slung the jacket over my shoulders.

"What?" Now I would be an accessory. Great.

"'You are a city girl,' you said, so you will drive."

For a second I did nothing at all, just staring, blinking, and staring again. He crossed his arms and stared right back. My self-esteem prevented me from telling him that I had never driven one before. I could already imagine his smug expression on hearing that little tidbit.

I could do this, after all I _had_ ridden on the back of one a couple of times. I mentally shrugged and looked over the bike, trying to mask my nerves. It started with a key. Well that was good at least. I kicked a tire. Ouch. Definitely solid.

Swinging my leg over the seat, I snuck a peek at Kershean. I was going for cool. But at least there was no smirking. That was good.

He didn't move, just stood there looking at me. "Are you going to get on?" He came out of whatever trance he was in and climbed on the back, his hands hard fists on his knees. "Uh, you might want to hold on."

"To what?"

"Me. Just put your arms around my waist." I had the pleasure of seeing Kershean blush, his cheeks a deep scarlet before he awkwardly put his arms around my waist. I tried not to think about his very strong hands holding onto me. And his chest at my back. _Bad Samara._

"We go that way," Kershean pointed south. I twisted the key, waited as the bike started, squared my legs and pulled back on the gas. The bike flew forward, spitting out dust and rocks. I weaved through the brush and onto the road already listening tensely for police sirens or followers. I was a felon. After a moment hearing nothing but the sound of the Vespa's engine, I relaxed. Just barely.

The road twisted and turned for the first few kilometers, and I focused, forgetting about everything but keeping myself steady and upright. I kept the speed slow, even when the road leveled out. Two large people sitting on a Vespa with tiny wheels, and I was the one driving the thing! It was a recipe for disaster. I was nervous I admit it, and Kershean didn't help any. His hands were holding on a little too tightly to my waist. It was doing _things_ to me. I slowed even further.

Kershean's voice shouted over the wind right in my ear, "Why are we going so slow? The snow will come sooner in the season than expected. We must move quicker."

I sped up just a bit, as much as I dared and the bike weaved just a bit. My hair began to whip back as the wind picked up. I felt Kershean shift suddenly behind me, I swerved again, sharply this time, nearly dumping us both off the Vespa. I stopped in the center of the deserted French highway. My voice was gruff, "What are you doing back there?"

Kershean was instantly defensive and his hands gripped painfully at my sides, "Your hair was blowing in my face, getting in my eyes. I was moving out of the way. Either take care of it or I will chop it off."

I turned to face him as best as I was able, "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh yes I would!" He pulled a large Swiss Army knife out of one of his pockets and flipped open one of the blades.

I leapt off the Vespa so fast that it teetered and then fell, taking a very surprised Kershean with it. It clattered to the ground and the noise echoed across the surrounding fields. I tried not to laugh at the look of outright shock on his face, I really did. A small bubble of mirth escaped anyway.

"Right," he said as he climbed to his feet, "I'm driving."

The humor in the situation vanished instantly, "But you've never driven before!" I was feeling far from confident about this.

"I watched you, it didn't look so difficult." Yeah, that made me feel loads better.

Kershean climbed back onto the bike looking the expert, and with a no nonsense voice he addressed my cowering form, "Get on." Against my better judgment I climbed on behind him.

He started the engine and we shot off, going much faster than I was prepared for. I frantically lunged for Kershean holding onto him as tightly as I could. I didn't have to see his face to know he was laughing. I could feel it bubbling up from his gut. I didn't care. My own stomach was in my throat. I was trying to breathe, and having a hard time if it, even with all the available air whipping past. I hardly noticed how firm his stomach was.

I was much more concerned with how fast we were moving. Much too fast in my opinion. Especially when he sped up after a short rise and the wheels lifted right off the asphalt. I tightened my grip and closed my eyes praying for it to be over soon.

Kershean never slowed. His fingers were wrapped tightly around the handlebars and his back hunched forward. I could imagine him grinning like a fool. I scowled and tried to loosen my grip. The minute my hands relaxed Kershean suddenly gunned the engine propelling us even faster and I was forced to hold on tight once again.

He was taking far too much pleasure in my distress. Well, when we crashed I would make sure I landed on him, perhaps with one well-placed elbow to his gut. It was the least I could do. Kershean gunned the engine again and we flew off into the air him grunting in pleasure. I went back to praying. As the day turning to dusk I finally managed to soften my hold around Kershean's middle.

Kershean's hand let off the accelerator and we slowed and then stopped. "We will sleep here for the night," he told me as he climbed off the bike. He had picked a good spot, nearby was a small grove of trees, thick and inviting.

He wheeled the bike off the road hiding it behind a very large, very green, very prickly looking bush. He didn't even get pierced. Figures.

With the bottom of his shoe he smoothed out the tire tracks. "Come."

He bundled up a pile of loose leaves and pine needles and I followed suit. We had been doing this for a while, and I didn't want to miss out on the dry leaves. Kershean liked to hog them.

I didn't fall asleep right away, I never did. Kershean was already asleep, just like every other night, though he always slept very lightly. I knew this because he complained every time I rolled over or fidgeted.

I was in a good mood, I had managed to gather more leaves than Kershean, and my body was thankful for the rest. I evilly wondered what would happen if I kept fidgeting. And once I wondered it was impossible to not try it out. My leg felt like it was asleep. I shook it out rustling the leaves.

Kershean predictably woke up, "Go to sleep."

I grinned at his already obvious annoyance. I shook my leg again then flipped over onto my stomach.

"Samara, go to sleep."

I tried to hold in my giggle. I waited for a long minute, letting him get comfortable again. I reached one hand out of the leaves, and scratched at my left eyebrow making sure to sigh loudly in pleasure.

Kershean suddenly flew out of his pile like a man possessed, "Go to sleep, or I will make you walk."

Alright, being quiet now.

I was surprised the next morning when instead of avoiding civilization, Kershean pulled off the road beside a small roadside café. He got off the bike walked through the open door and I could only watch. What was he up to?

He came back with his hands on his hips, "Samara, we are eating here."

Did he think he was doing me some kind of favor? I glared at him until my stomach predictably grumbled at the mention of food. He turned, his shoulders shaking in mirth and I followed him mortified. Stupid stomach.

He walked to a booth and with a flourish, "Sit down."

"Well this is unexpected."

His eyebrows knitted together, "Your stomach is grumbling. You are hungry. It is logical that you must eat."

Man this guy was weird. I picked up the laminated menu and read through the meager offerings. I peeked over the edge at Kershean who was still looking at me. I looked back at the menu. Everything looked so good, but the prices were so exorbitant! Nearly twice what they were at the Student Union. How was I ever to pay for it? I looked at Kershean shrewdly, and then at the waiter and the bartender standing in the corner expectantly. He wasn't planning on eating and leaving without paying was he?

I put the menu down, "Kershean, this place is kind of expensive."

The cleft between his eyebrows increased, "And?"

"How are we going to pay for this," I hissed.

From around his neck came a hand-braided necklace with a leather pouch at the end. How had I missed that? He tugged it open dumping out a thick roll of Euros. I was silent, completely flabbergasted.

The waiter must have seen the money, he was at our table immediately, "Monsieur, Madame, how may I help you?"

"I would like some fresh bread and an omelet, s'il vous plait," Kershean answered immediately without even glancing at his menu, still untouched on the table.

The waiter turned to me, "And for you Madame?"

"Uh. The same," I managed to squeak out.

The waiter left, and Kershean tucked his Euros back into his pouch. He had an odd look on his face, something I could not fathom or understand. So I didn't bother to try.

"Where did you get that kind of money?"

He shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Did you steal it? Like the bike?"

He was clearly affronted, "The money is mine. As for the bike, we are only borrowing it."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, whatever."

He folded his arms across his chest, "How come _you_ are so unpleasant?"

"I guess _some people_," I stressed, "bring out the worst in me."

"With the boy Jamie, you were friendly."

I snorted. Jamie was hardly a boy. I told Kershean the same.

"He is not yet a man," he answered tartly.

I threw up my hands, "Whatever!"

"But you have still not answered my question."

"Jamie is a nice guy. I had fun with him." No need to tell him that we weren't together. Let him think what he wanted, it would only get under his skin.

Of course, that backfired, "Had? As in the past tense of the verb to have?"

I sighed loudly, even as the food arrived, "You know I don't really want to talk about this now." I began shoving food into my mouth at an alarming rate.

Kershean grinned cockily showing all of his teeth in a disgusting display of arrogance. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

My eyes shifted to the right at the waiter who had just sat down in front of a computer monitor. He clicked and typed and then smiled, "Did you get the email?" The bartender called. I perked up at that. They had the internet here? All this 'living off the land' had me almost forget about modern technology, things like cell-phones, and electronic mail. My finger itched to check my own account. What if I had missed something important!

It was probably against the rules, but Kershean and I were the only two patrons, perhaps they could make an exception. I left Kershean at the table, and ignored him when he called my name confused, "Samara?"

I leaned over the bar, "Excuse me? I couldn't help but hear you talking about checking your email."

The waiter looked guilty, had I said something wrong? The bartender folded his arms across his chest, "Yeah, so?"

"Would you mind if I checked my email?"

The bartender was already shaking his head, "I don't know…"

"What is it not allowed?" There was that look again from the waiter! Wait a minute, had _he_ broken the rules? "Does the _owner_ not allow that?" The bartender glared at me telling me I had pretty much hit on the truth. "I wouldn't want you to _break_ the rules for _me._"

The bartender's face had turned a nasty shade of puce, and he was opening and closing his mouth trying and failing to speak. "Just be quick about it, alright?" The waiter whined at me.

"Yipes!" Kershean was standing directly behind me. I pushed my way past him before the waiter could change his mind, or the bartender could come up with an adequate comeback.

He followed me anyway, "What are you doing?"

I sat down at the computer, "Aha!" I exclaimed as I found the internet icon.

"Samara…"

"I'm checking my email."

"You're what?" And another piece that made up the confusing puzzle that was Kershean fell into place. Who didn't know what email was? You would have to be living under a rock for the last 10 years at least.

My email account loaded up. I had 27 new messages. Two were spam messages, 25 were from Cammy. What the…? Kershean looked over my shoulder as I clicked through the messages, "What is this?"

I barely heard him as I read the first message,

SAMARA! You will call me right now!

**Camilla** to _me _ (8 days ago)

Hey Girl!

You aren't checking the phone messages anymore! Where are you? It's been days, call me! I have great news,

Love, Cammy

It was a few days later that she had sent her second email, from our dorm room. It made me feel horribly guilty at not having thought to contact her.

Re:re: SAMARA! You will call me right now!

**Camilla** to _me _ (4 days ago)

Sam,

I've got to say that you are really scaring me now. I'm in our room, all your stuff is here, but where are you?

Anger, frustration, fear, they were all in the rest of her emails, she pleaded with me to call, to write, to tell her where I was. Sometimes her red-headed temper got the best of her and she would send pages and pages of text chiding me for teasing her like this. She begged me to let her know that I was alive, and unhurt. She hoped that I had just run away, but feared I had been kidnapped. She remembered DeWittier's name. Sweet, enterprising Cammy had even tried to contact him with little success. Occasionally she would mention Wes and how worried he was about her. He didn't let her out of his sight and I breathed, relieved that at least someone was looking out for her now that I was gone.

Her very last email, was dated just that morning,

Re:re: SAMARA! You will call me right now!

**Camilla** to _me _ 7:51am (2 hours ago)

Sam,

I finally went to talk to our advisor, you know Monsieur Conne. (Nothing else was working!) He's supposed to be there to help us but he wouldn't say anything, in fact he almost seemed surprised that you were missing. Like he didn't know. How could he not have known? He said he would look into it. But, well I almost don't believe him. I don't know what else to do Samara. I hoped you are okay, I'm so scared. Please don't be dead!

Oh Sam…where are you?

I scrubbed at my forehead, what could I tell her? I didn't even know who _I_ was anymore. I composed a quick email, short and to the point because Kershean was still breathing over my shoulder,

Re:re: SAMARA! You will call me right now!

**Me** to _Camilla _ 10:00am

Dear Cammy,

I don't know. Stay safe.

Love, Sam


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

We could obviously cross greater distances on the back of a bike. Though Kershean drove too fast, and my hair was horribly tangled from all the wind, at least I didn't have to walk. And when it got dark at night we would stop for a full night's sleep. Things become clearer with more rest. For example I recognized that perhaps I was being irrational about Kershean. Instead of a monster perhaps he was just quiet. He had cared for me, fed me, and carried me. He wasn't purposely being cruel. Right? I yawned and snuggled into my leaves. He wasn't bad at all, I had just misunderstood him. For the first time I slept confidently and calm amidst the elements.

Kershean woke me up in the black of predawn, mist still floating through the trees, his face shadowed and severe, "Get up, we have to leave." His voice sounded unusually rough.

"What's going on?"

"Be silent!" He snarled. _Okay._

He had climbed on the bike and started it before I had a chance to question him further. He pulled down on the accelerator the moment my arms were around his waist. The bike tore out of the bush, grass flying and grit swirling. He weaved around low bushes and large boulders, the bike leaning so dangerously at times that I was sure he was going to set it down.

I held on for dear life, "Kershean!"

"Shut up!" His voice was low, growling and dangerous. I shut up, but I vowed he would answer my questions later.

We drove until the sun came up pushing the bike to its limit. Kershean was turning down familiar roads and doubling back through small villages. I had long ago lost any sense of our general direction. By noon, we had tripled back and I began to recognize villages that we had passed through earlier that morning.

He stopped abruptly in a back alley, high stucco buildings on both sides. "We will walk now." He moved briskly away from the bike, the key still in the ignition.

I dashed after him, "We're not taking the bike?"

"We were being followed," he said through gritted teeth.

"What? Who?"

"I think you know who." He fairly spat.

"DeWittier?" I tripped over a rock and stumbled forward in my confusion, nearly careening into him. "But…"

He didn't say anything.

"Did we lose him?"

"For now."

"Then why can't we take the bike?"

He whirled on me, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury, "It's because of your ridiculous notion of needing transportation that he was able to follow us."

I was struck dumb. He had never been so angry. "I…No!" he advanced. I backed away from his newly volatile temper, covering my face in my fright.

He scoffed, "I will not strike you. From now on, we will walk. Do not complain. Do not fall behind. There will be no more stops." He turned and continued his brisk walk towards the trees.

"How dare you! You…" Why was he acting like this? The situation was of his making! Yes I had complained about not wanting to walk, but _he_ had stolen the bike, "How could you possibly blame me for this! This is more your fault than mine. You stole the bike."

He whirled around again, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, "Women do not talk back! They do not disagree! You will learn your place." He raised his hand as if to strike, forgetting his previous oath. I flinched back and he dropped his hand. "Be silent," His voice was low and cruel. I thought I had seen Kershean angry before. I had been mistaken.

He walked away leaving me with tears in my eyes. I blinked them away. And followed him completely silent, just like he wanted.

We walked for a full day. The sun was low nearing dusk. I could see the foothills of the Alps, and the threes had thinned letting in the chill of the evening. My arms were tingling from the cold, my legs burning and itching as warm blood flooded under the skin. The wind was howling through the trees making their branches scrape against each other.

My eyes darted around as I panicked so sure we weren't alone, "Kershean?"

"Yes, he's back there." His voice was quiet, "Continue away from the sun," he nodded to the left. "Be as quiet as you can. I will lead him away." I instantly tensed. He raised his hand as if to comfort me I supposed, but changed his mind when I tensed even further.

He turned perpendicular to our path, moving away from me, his footfalls louder than I had ever heard. I could hear him kicking up some loose pebbles as he shuffled along. He was trying to confuse DeWittier so he would choose to follow Kershean instead of me. Convince him that together we had taken a new path. After days of traveling together, Kershean had taught me a few things. I was by no means silent but I could pass pretty quietly through the brush. I tiptoed through the forest sneaking along, making as little noise as possible

It was eerie with the wind still blowing and the trees creaking in protest. I forgot how much I relied on Kershean being nearby. Another person to combat the thickness of the shadows. I heard the high pitched screech of a chipmunk. I froze and looked around hoping I was alone. The chipmunk screamed again and dashed noisily across a few branches. Right. I started running. I tried to be quiet but my feet were snapping branches.

It was dark under the canopy of the trees, impossible to tell the direction to go in. The sun was too low now, just beneath the tree line. My feet buckled under me and I collapsed to the ground. I had always wondered what my limit was. Now I knew. I had pushed my body too far. I rolled onto my back, gasping, my lungs begging for more air than I had in my chest. I heard noises among the trees again and I forced myself to my feet, legs shaking dangerously, even if I crawled, I would have to keep moving.

I pushed myself forward oblivious to all save the noises around me, my nerves tensed. I could hear the creaking of branches, the echo of what I was sure were the footsteps of a follower. I came to a dead stop, surrounded by a steep hill covered in brambles and trees. I turned and headed off to the left, not wanting to retrace my steps just in case. The land flattened into a circular meadow surrounded by tall pines towering above me and casting heavy shadows. I sun around in a circle, trees on every side, blocking me in. I was turned around and hopelessly lost. And the sun was hiding from me. I could admit defeat, collapse here wait for my fate. I was dizzy with confusion and giving up was very tempting.

As if in a dream, a small patch of sunlight suddenly broke through the thickness of the trees, marking my path. I turned purposely away from it and began walking again. I ignored the screech of the chipmunk, and stood firm against the wind as it tried to push me back. I refused to be beaten.

I walked until the sun was below the horizon and I could no longer see which direction I should continue in. I wondered how Kershean planned on finding me if I got lost. If he was planning on finding me. We hadn't exactly parted under the best of circumstances. The loss of the sun, dampened my mood and I sunk to the ground. Would he just leave me out here?

And the ultimate fear: What if DeWittier had chosen to follow my path instead of Kershean's? What if our plan had failed? He could be watching me at this very moment. My ears were attuned to every sound. Listening for anything out of the ordinary. I heard the cry of a bird of prey and the squeal of the mouse it dived for. The wind was still blowing the branches of trees together, scratching and clawing at each other. The anxiety would keep me awake all night I knew it.

When I awoke, the sun was shining. I looked around. I was still alone. I squared my shoulders; I could do this. Kershean's directions were simple enough to follow, I would find my way. I was invigorated and cheerful by the unexpected night's sleep and the warm morning. Singing a French folk song as I walked along, I squinted into the sun and smiled. All of Kershean's predictions about the early snow seemed ludicrous on such a conflicting day. I took off the leather jacket and tied it around my waist.

I realized that my chosen trail was gaining in altitude when my legs started to strain against my steady pace. In my optimism, I had failed to notice the clouds that had gathered in the sky until the sun dipped behind a rather low, rather ominous looking cluster. I put the jacket back on as the air cooled. With the quiet of a coming storm, the wind began to blow.

Without warning it suddenly picked up to tremendous speeds, and a cold rain began to fall drenching me instantly. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and searched through the din for some type of shelter. I could feel a shiver already working its way through my torso, I needed to get somewhere dry to wait out the storm. Not 5 metres from where I stood was a large tree, its massive branches protecting the small and very delicate looking plants beneath its canopy. I dashed towards it, huddling against the trunk, far from the elements. I wrapped the jacket more tightly around me as the tree staunchly protected me.

The storm continued unabated for hours, flooding the earth with water. Once twilight came the moisture turned to snow, blanketing the ground in a matter of moments. It fell thickly and quietly like cotton but deadly in its beauty. Beneath the tree, the ground remained dry. I would not be traveling anymore that day.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The distant chirp of a bird awoke me the next morning. The boughs of the massive pine weighed down by now had acted as my protector shielding me from the storm. I shivered. It could not protect me from the chill still in the air. Stepping out of it realm I noted that the snow was only a few inches deep. It would be taxing, but no impossible to travel through. Walking was made easier that afternoon when the snow fully melted leaving a soggy quenched earth. Not a cloud in the sky, it was as if the storm from the previous day was an illusion. The sun dried my shoes and warmed my soul. If DeWittier had been following, surely he would have found me by now I was safe.

It was no illusion that I was steadily traveling upwards, especially when I exited unexpectedly from the thick forest and got my very first glimpse of the imposing, snow encrusted French Alps. Faced with their majesty so directly before me, I couldn't help but be impressed. I had never seen such a sight before. And they were my destination.

Had it been not much more than a week since that fateful date with Jamie? So much had occurred since then. So much that I didn't understand. Kershean had promised answers. I was so close!

I broke out into a run cheering and giggling as I pushed myself towards the mountains. I stumbled over roots and tripped on loose rocks but still I ran, exhilarated. Funny think about mountains, they're usually further away than they look. I stopped running once I realized this. It was collectively disappointing and motivating. A small bird landed on the ground, directly in my path, pecking for worms. My stomach grumbled. In our haste to separate, Kershean had neglected to give me any food. I would have gladly accepted even one of those awful granola bars. Well almost. I remembered that awkward shared meal with Kershean. That had been days ago! I ignored the rumblings and forced my legs to climb again trying to overcome the pain in my stomach with the one in my legs.

My belly cringed and wined and convulsed with the need for sustenance. I thought I knew true hunger that day. I was mistaken. No, true hunger is much, much worse. My head pounded as the blood flow lessened, my body's response to starvation trying to conserve and store all it could. No matter how much I pushed myself to move faster the pain in my limbs could no longer eclipse the pain in my abdomen.

I found a stream, bubbling and cold. I drank from it greedily until my stomach sloshed and my throat burned. I drank my fill once more. I started following the stream as it led back towards the sun, disregarding Kershean's instructions, heading back the way I had come. I could not leave my only source of sustenance.

My stomach cringed again, and my sight blurred as nausea overcame me. I retched again and again, crying and feeling miserable losing all of the water I had drunk. Too much water, too little nutrients.

I avoided the stream, retraced my steps and continued on the path Kershean had suggested. I had lost precious ground, the sun was already setting. My stomach settled, and began grumbling again. I pointedly ignored the stream pulling up grass blades and chewing on those. My fingers and tongue stained green, and the taste turned bitter.

Taking a break, hungry and exhausted, I laid down, my cheek pressed into the soil. My breath shifted through the grass, and a single line of ants moved doggedly onward across my vision. They carried seeds and grubs, and rocks back to their hill, they were the only living thing in my vicinity. Even the birds had neglected me. I regretted not trying to catch the bird I had seen earlier. Yes, I was that hungry.

I watched the ants for a long moment until my stomach gave a sickening lurch. They were edible, right? I lunged at them suddenly ravenous. A few scattered as their world trembled beneath them from my movement. I grinned devilishly; the lucky few. I grabbed as many of the others as I could, crushing a few to death with my over-zealous fingers. I didn't even spare them a thought shoving as many as I could into my mouth, masticating as fast as possible. I felt a few stinging mandibles on my tongues as a desperate few tried to save themselves. I chewed on.

I walked in a daze until it was night. I vaguely remembered gathering pine needles around my body as I went to sleep. I awoke the next morning under a blanket of freshly fallen snow. Shrugging, I rose to my feet and began walking once more, not caring that I left footsteps in the snow or that I had slept out in the middle of a field where anyone could find me. I couldn't even remember why that should bother me. I started to lose track of how far I had walked, what day it was, or even what time it was. And still the mountains were as far away as they ever were.

This was a new experience, this laissez-faire attitude. I didn't care when my stomach grumbled, in fact, I barely noticed. Focusing on the sun, I walked along waiting for it to burn my retinas. Perhaps I would go blind. I couldn't seem to look away. Oh well. That is what true hunger feels like, complete and utter apathy.

The snow got deeper and still I walked on, losing the sun behind the nearest very forbidding mountain. I suppose I was close. The snow inched its way up to my kneecaps. I was cold. That didn't matter the way I thought it should.

I don't remember dropping in the snow, my legs finally gave out when the snow reached mid-thigh. I dropped forward, snow covering my hair, melting into my ears; there probably was a better path up the mountain than the one I had taken. That was my final thought.

Black and cloudy were my dreams, calls insistent, annoyed, calm and caring. It was one voice, it was many voices. I recognized none of them. My body was light, floating in a sea of murky darkness. Something felt familiar out of the realm of the dream, I should have noticed, I should have known.

I awoke in a new place, no longer wet and cold from the snow, but instead lying on something hard and musty and dry like the floor of a cave. I moved my head side to side, my hair had mysteriously dried too. Light was playing beyond my eyelids and I opened them to the flickering flames of a fire. I was in a small cove, tucked into the back and under a large rock overhang. At the mouth of the cove I could make out the fluttering of falling snow. There was no wind, no animals calls and no more voices, only the occasional sizzle from the fire.

It appeared as if I was alone. But who had started the fire? Where was my apparently shy rescuer? Why was he refusing to show himself? Beside me was a small cloth wrapped parcel. I unwrapped it slowly, suddenly nervous. Inside was a crusty hard tack roll, a small and shriveled apple and a small tankard of liquid. Nothing had ever been more welcoming. I devoured both, juice dripping down my chin. I didn't even bother wiping it away. I sniffed at the tankard. Sweet milk! It was like ambrosia on my tongue.

As the food settled in my stomach, I was finally able to think clearly. A mountain of worries, settled in my mind. Where was my rescuer? How was I to explain my presence so far from civilization? There could be no conceivable reason for me to be here and completely alone as well.

The extent of my predicament finally settled on my mind. I would have died in the snow, but for my rescuer. He, whoever he was, had carried me here to this alcove away from the storm, started a fire and left me nourishment. But I couldn't wait around to tell him. There were too many questions I couldn't answer. I rose to my feet, hoping that intuitively he would know of my gratitude.

The cove opened directly out onto a mountain, high above the valley. Leaving its protection, I traveled upwards choosing a path directly abreast to its side. Moonlight reflected against the snow lit my progress. How bright was the moon even through the density of clouds! That was persistence.

Barely stumbling along I walked until sunrise always moving forward; like the moon I could be persistent. I only rested when the first rays of dawn, pinks touched the pure white tops of the Alps. I felt my own insignificance amid the brilliance before me. My people, whoever they were, were nearby, I could feel their affinity already. These mountains were my home, more so than the orphanage, or my dorm room back at Lycee.

I marched onward again, reinvigorated. Over a ridge and around a bend in the trail and suddenly I was no longer alone. There before me, stood a boy. He was young, much younger than me, but there was something about his eyes that spoke of wisdom: Of things that I had never experienced. He stood tall and firm never moving, watching me approach. His hair was black as midnight, his forehead as prominent as mine and shining brilliantly from the last light of the sun. He was dressed simply, thick furs swaddled his entire body, his only protection against the cold. He smiled at me, as I approached. It was a welcoming sight, completely devoid of pretention. I grinned back at him.

"Hello." I said as I was nearly upon him. He didn't respond, merely ducked his head in greeting. Perhaps he didn't speak French? But why wouldn't he?

Instead of speaking he motioned for me to follow. I looked up at the bright snowy mountain with its peaks and rock outcroppings scattered and maze-like. I would have never been able to navigate it on my own.

My new friend was patiently waiting for me to come when I was ready. That was a welcome change from Kershean's impatience. That reminded me. Where was Keshean? He had promised to return. He had not; I frowned. The sentinel motioned for me to follow once more, smiling again. I forgot all about Kershean.

The precipitation had changed to sleet, slicking the cliff faces, freezing the snow. My friend helped me around the slippery rocks with a strong hand offered. His own feet danced across the brittle surface as I crunched through. He pulled me over ravines with strong muscles hardly taxed, I don't think he even broke a sweat. He moved onward, his furs billowing out behind him looking the part of a Viking warrior chief. I could smell the sweet scent of meat being cooked, and hear the crackling of fires. I wondered for the thousandth time where I was going, who were these enigmatic people that I was a part of? That I had always been a part of, but had never known?

And then after a particularly treacherous bend, I saw them. No more than twenty individuals, all adults, calmly waiting in a semicircle outside a small hut in the center of a clearing. They all looked young, perhaps only a bit older than myself. But their eyes again spoke a different story. I paused, looking at each of them as they smiled at me, knowing that this was something momentous, something that didn't happen often. I would not be here if they didn't want me here. Ponce de Leon suddenly came to mind, the crazy explorer who thought to find the Fountain of Youth. With their youthful bodies and old eyes, these people would surely know about immortality. Now I just needed to know where I fit in.

A single man step away from the circle. As he got closer I noticed that he was much older than I would have originally guessed. He carried himself like a young man, head high, shoulders back, but the skin around his face was taunt like if it had been pulled too tightly back from his nose, as if he was meant to have wrinkles but his body changed its mind at the last second. His hair was black and long blowing around his shoulders. He cleared his throat and spoke with a thin tenor, "My daughter, you have finally come home."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

I didn't know what to do for several minutes. I blinked, then blinked again. Daughter? I looked at the others. Only in my fantasies had I ever expected to be face to face with my progenitor. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of joke. But nobody was laughing, and eventually the others scattered away leaving me along with…with my father.

I turned my eyes to the man in front of me. He was shorter than I had expected. After seeing the sentinel and Kershean I was expecting everyone else to be colossal. He was even shorter than I was.

"Come, sit with me," he moved to the side, revealing a fire pit with a few stones around it. "You must be tired Samara." I nodded, and my feet were frozen inside my shoes. Sitting by a fire sounded like a good idea. "Samara is such a beautiful name. Your mother named you Samara, after one of our Women of Old. You have grown into a woman. A beautiful woman," he told me. I followed him to the fire, letting him lead me by the arm.

He patted my hand as if I needed comforting, "Your mother is not with us."

I was completely tongue tied. He continued and I was grateful since I couldn't think of one single thing to say, "She took you away from me when you were just a baby. I will be forever indebted to Kershean for bringing you home."

Finally, something I could understand, "We separated down in the valley. Is he…? That is, do you know if he's okay?"

He smiled curiously. "Yes, he is well. He is resting now." I wondered what I was missing. Must be some type of private joke.

"Is Kershean here then?"

"Yes, he arrived a few hours ago." I was a little incensed that he hadn't kept his promise in coming back for me. Okay, a lot incensed. Thanks for looking out for me Kershean! "Would you like to see him?" There was eagerness in his tone that confused me.

"No I'm okay staying here with you." It was probably for the best that Kershean and I kept our distance from each other, especially after his recent desertion. Just when I was beginning to think he might not be so bad after all, he would reach for and achieve a whole new low.

My father was disappointed and not hiding it well, "Kershean said you had many questions. Is there anything you would like to know?"

Wow, just like that, no skipping around or avoiding. And no limit either: Kershean! I hardly knew where to start. "Who are you?"

He frowned, "I am your father."

These people were way too literal sometimes, "No, I mean, what is the big secret. All this time, there is something that you know, that you're keeping from everyone else. What is it? What are you, who are you?"

"Ah, now I understand. Yes, you are right. We are not human." He paused and rolled his jaw for a moment considering. My brain had stopped, I was grateful for the quiet. What had he just said? How was the possible? Not human? I gaped at him.

He nodded aware of my confusion, "We call ourselves the Exium Solus. We were contemporary with the Homo Sapiens. The humans call us the Neanderthals."

I did the first thing that came to mind, I burst out laughing. Now that was stretching things just too far into the ridiculous. I stopped abruptly when I saw the look on his face. "You're actually serious?" But how could he be? It was just…just…

"I have no reason to lie about this. You and everyone else in this camp are members of the species Neanderthal."

"But they died out, millennia ago," my voice was barely a whisper.

"No, WE did not. For centuries, we tried to compete with man. They were better in so many ways. We went into a hiding of sorts."

"But I don't understand…"

He nodded again, "It is much to accept. You will hear more, but not now. You look like you might like some time to wash up. Artha will see to your needs." A woman appeared at his elbow. She was short and round and smiling softly at me. I vaguely remembered seeing her earlier with the others.

_Artha_ led me to a small cave hollowed out of rock. There were no chairs, no light fixtures, no windows, nothing of the comforts I was used to. The door wasn't really a door at all, only a flap made of bronzed fur. In the center of the room on a large flattened rock was a small basin, filled with the water droplets of the icicles hanging from the ceiling.

"Wash there," she said in French. I could tell it wasn't her native tongue. I eyed it speculatively. It looked way too cold to bathe with.

I wanted to say no and instead ask where the warm water was, but I didn't want to offend her. She was being so nice to me. I held my breath and dipped my hands into the basin, and then threw water at my face, scrubbing fast to counteract the freezing water.

I turned to Artha, "Done." I announced. There was no way I was willing to do anything else with water that cold.

Artha obviously thought otherwise. She pulled me out of my clothes before I even had time to protest and dumped the entire basin over my head. So…very…cold. I screeched and my teeth began chattered.

Working a small square of brown gelatin into a lather, she began scrubbing and tugging her fingers through my hair. It smelled awful, strongly of animal fat and lye. I tried holding my breath. Particularly hard because my teeth were still knocking together. She rolled all of my hair into a roll on top of my head, and left it there, patting down her furs, obviously looking for something. Out came a rock. She handed it to me. I took it carefully, and nearly dropped it when it compressed in my palm. A sponge. She handed me the small brown square of soap, and mimed rubbing it into the sponge. I smirked at her¸ _yeah got that, thanks_.

"Wash," she told me before pantomiming once again

So I scrubbed. The sponge was itchy, but oddly satisfying against my skin. My skin was red and soft by the time I had finished. And it was clean, even if I smelled terrible. Another basin full of ice cold water was dumped over me. I was prepared this time at least, and kept my gasps to a minimum.

Artha wrapped me in a soft cloth, and then moved me to a rocky seat. She pulled out something that looked very much like a fork and attacked my tangle of curls.

"Oh, no really, it's probably not the best idea." I tried to stop her ,"You'll be combing for days!" I tried to explain. Artha ignored me again. Or she probably didn't understand. She smiled indulgently and kept combing.

I was just beginning to relax when Artha hit a particularly nasty tangle. "Youch!" She continued brushing as if she hadn't heard. I could feel her tugging and pulling my hair back from my face into some type of elaborate and complicated looking knot.

I looked at her as she worked, interested in the beaded headdress she wore over her own prominent forehead. Would I have to wear one of those? I don't think I was ready for that yet. My forehead had always been a source of discomfort for me. Always so much bigger than the other kids. She looked me over critically when she was done, before doing something I hadn't expected. With her 'comb' she brushed my bangs forward again, hiding my forehead. I thanked her silently. I didn't think I was ready to fully appreciate my prominent noggin like she obviously did.

She pulled the flap up from the door and waved me outside. A sudden burst of modesty had me pulling the cloth around me tighter and holding onto the edges with my fists. We didn't walk far, and nobody even seem to notice me past, the semi-clad newbie. That was nice at least.

Another cave, this one made of more ice than rock, as if it had been built into the side of the mountain. Here furs were mounded with pillows on the ground. Someone's sleeping quarters. Clothes were folded in the corner along with a few bundles of material gathered and tied together into sacks. She picked up one at random. I could smell it from where I still stood near the door. Gardenia's! Inside was a vial of oil, and she dabbed it into my hair, and rubbed it onto my arms. It smelled wonderful, much better than the soap.

My stomach grumbled and Artha smiled knowingly. From the pile of clothes, she pulled a dress of soft material, like a cross between velvet and silk, with sleeves to the tips of my fingers and the skirt falling to my ankles. She helped me into it, latching the ties up my back and tied a ribbon at my waist. Over the dress and on my shoulders she hung a vest of the softest fur.

I hadn't had a moment to think over the few things my father had told me. Even knowing that somewhere in this camp was the man who was my father was confusing me. I had wanted to meet him, I had expected to meet him, but I had never imagined that it would be like this. I could understand why Kershean had told me so little. Neanderthals! It was…well frankly it had never occurred to me. It was too fantastic! Neadnerthals still living after all this time? I could hear the voice of my history teacher, "Preposterous."

A low murmur of voices echoed off the mountain cliffs as Artha pulled me out of the cave. Of to the left of us was a large ice structure with smoke curling up from the roof filling the area with smells equally foreign and delicious. My stomach growled in anticipation. My father was waiting for me at the door. Inside were several long flat stones, low to the ground. The largest of the stone tables was in the very center of the structure, dripping beeswax candles at the corners and plush pillows piled up around the circumference. Half reclining with their legs-crossed sat close to a dozen Neanderthals wrapped in furs and clothing just as fine and bright as my own. They laughed and talked together, their voices raised in celebration. No one noticed me standing awkwardly in the doorway until my father took my hand and walked me around the table twice, his head high, his eyes proud. At that moment, all speaking ceased, and ten sets of eyes watched our progress. I tried to ignore how uncomfortable that made me. Dressed in finery with a feast fit for the prodigal, I was still feeling very much out of place. And I didn't like being stared at.

Spiced potatoes, succulent meat, and sweet baked fruits were piled onto a plate for me. I tasted each one carefully before tucking into the food with gusto. It was as if my palate had never known what good food was supposed to taste like.

Conversation flowed easily around me, the words foreign, like nothing I had ever heard. It was more like trying to understand the personality of a dog from the tones of its barks or translate a bird's song into readable prose. But that was still off the mark because unlike animals who communicated just with single and separate notes, this was a mixture of tongue movements, exhalations, and combined sounds. Before Hebrew or Aramaic or Latin or even humans, this was probably the first real language ever spoken! It was beautiful; I hoped I would be able to learn it.

My father sat at my side and at the head of the table, a place of some importance it seemed and directing the conversation and the flow of the food. As soon as my plate was emptied, he filled it again, urging me with a nudge to continue eating. He never spoke actually spoke to me though. I didn't think much of this until my stomach was filled and I was able to sit back and survey the table. The only voices were the baritones and tenors of the men. It wasn't as if the women were being shunned, they just weren't being encouraged to take part in the conversation. The men turned pointedly away from them as they spoke to each other, and they hardly noticed their female companions, save to pile more food onto their plates occasionally.

I turned to my father-he had said I could ask him anything-but before I even opened my mouth, he cut me off with a whispered warning, "Not here and not now. Some of the other men are not as liberal as I."

I frowned, what did that mean?


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Dinner went on into the early hours of the night, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Artha slipped in while the party was still taking place and took pity on me. The chill in the air woke me up a little, just enough to follow Artha as she led me around a few rocky corners to a series of ice caves. Everywhere there were campfires lighting the night and warming the area. Unlike the dining hall, it was quiet here. Caves dotted the ground like honecomb. The walls of each were covered with thick furs to ward against the chill. Three from the left of the middle, Artha opened a fur door and literally pushed me inside; my feet dragging once more. On the floor was a feather-stuffed and lumpy mattress with pillows and furs and looking more comfortable and inviting than anything I had ever slept on. I remember pulling off the vest before I stumbled onto the mattress. Warm and contented, I was asleep faster than I thought possible, answers to my questions would wait until tomorrow.

I slept until noon, the ice of my cave bright when I was gently shaken awake by Artha. She was smiling at me, her eyes crinkling at the edges. It was not the easy smile from the day before, almost as if she was amused by something. Had I done something funny?

She moved to the side, stationing herself far to the side, almost hugging the wall. The flap at the door opened and my father entered, "I finally asked Artha to check on you. Our people don't tend to require much rest."

Huh. That explained a lot. I hoped I was not expected to change my ways. I liked my sleep. "May I ask some questions now?"

"There is a better story teller than I."

"But…" Artha was suddenly beside me, a basin of water held tightly in her hands. When had she gone for it? I hadn't even noticed her leaving. I turned back to my father. Or where he had been, for he had disappeared as quietly as he had entered. How did they do that?

"It is warm." Artha told me, holding up the water for me, her eyes were crinkled at the edges again, amused. Well I was certainly making an interesting impression.

Artha dressed me again, a new dress, one that closed at the front with eyes and ivory, I tried to help, wanting to feel useful. My fingers were shaky and sloppy, and Artha managed most of them before I had completed even one. She patiently waited while I finished my one and only 'button.'

Artha had brushed and smoothed my hair back, but this time she had pulled my bangs back. I guess it was important that I finally look like the others. She rubbed more sweet-smelling gardenia into my skin, and then pushed me out the door. My father was not waiting for me, but he managed to walk around the corner leading to the dining hall right just as I opened my flap door. He hailed me. "Come, we will go this way."

He led me inside the small hut, near the front of the camp, and the one I had seen the night before. Inside a fire was burning hot and heavy with incense. A cot, woven of reeds and covered with furs sat in the corner, and among the covers was a figure, a woman.

She was old, her skin greyed with age, delicate and paper thin. I could see the rounded bone of each of her cheeks, and the blue of her veins pulsating at her neck. She looked as if she might break at any moment. She was swaying and her eyes closed. I wondered if she was even aware of me. Was she still even lucid? Her eyelids opened and she looked directly into my eyes. Black obsidian, sharp and intelligent.

Her voice rasped and weezed as she spoke to my father in the odd language of the Neanderthal. Her eyes never left my face, surveying, judging. My father spoke softly to her, reverently. She nodded and he led me to a pillow directly behind the fire.

"Now, my daughter you will know everything. I will translate for you."

"Will I be able to learn how to speak to the others like you do?"

"In time, yes. Now you will listen." He faced towards the old woman, staunchly away from me and further conversation.

Out of the furs came a boney and greyed hand. In her palm was a coarse powder and she dropped it into the fire. It hissed and popped turning the flames a bright blue. I watched it mesmerized, waiting.

The old woman's voice filled the hut, and superimposing it, my father's tenor voice translated, "Before the world was what it is today, the Neanderthal roamed free. We were rulers of the beasts, smarter, stronger. We made weapons, we hunted, we mated. The mighty hunter Oshus was the strongest of us all, a god among men. With his wooden spear he felled the biggest of the mammoths, he could kill a boar with the strength of his bare hands. He mated with many women. Virility like his had never been seen before. But Mother Earth became jealous of Oshus, and plagued the Neanderthal. That plague," the old woman took deep breath, "was man."

The old woman smiled sadly with pale pink gums devoid of teeth. "Man was stronger, man was smarter. Man reproduced at alarming rates. Where the Neanderthal had one maybe two offspring, man could have dozens. Almost immediately the Neanderthal was outnumbered. Mother Earth was happy."

Suddenly the old woman began to cough, her body convulsing dangerously. Liquid was oozing from her eyes and nose. My own widened in terror. Was she going to die? My father went to her, shielding her from my sight. I heard her drinking something, with long steady gulps. The coughing ceased. But she didn't say a word as my father sat beside me again.

"Should we?" I nodded at the hut's entrance.

"No, she will be alright in a moment."

I was embarrassed for her, I looked away focusing on the walls of the hut instead, looking anywhere but at the old woman. The walls were made of bamboo tied to its neighbors and each corner help in place by a removable cloth joint. Was the hut portable? Bamboo did not grow in the Alps. Where had this hut come from? Where else had it been? I shivered.

The old woman began gulped loudly for air and then began again, directly where she had left off as if she had never paused, "And Man found us. We were not like them. We were just as the beasts, something to dominate. Our men were tortured, our children murdered, unspeakable acts were committed on the women.

"We fled, crossing to the great deserts of Arabia. But man was there too. We passed north and into Western Europe. The weather was turning warm, man did not like the cold. In Siberia, the tundra had yet to melt there we would be safe! Wearing furs and hunting the last of the mammoths, mammoths had covered every corner of the known world. In desperation we crossed the bridge of ice and entered North America."

Her eyes took on a wistful quality, something I did not understand. "My father led us through the wildness of Alaska. The area was thick with vegetation and beasts. It appeared untouched, Man had not come here, they did not know of it yet," I was trying to stay with her, telling myself that it was just for symbolism that she had spoken of her father. Some ancestor instead, that was what she meant, "My father mated, and my mother birthed me and a still born twin. It was an evil omen of things to come. My Father was a good warrior, but not a believer in such things. Like Oshus, his faith rested in his bow and spear.

"My mother was a dreamer, she knew better. Her dreams drove her away from him in the dead of night taking me and a few other believers. We wandered and I grew. One of the men quarreled with my mother. He went back to my father's camp. It had been leveled and burned; the bodies of my father and the others rotting in the snow. The curse of man had found us again.

"The man returned to my mother and shared all that he knew. My mother in her desperation called on the powers of the demon. The demon granted her wish. Freedom from man's tyranny. Immortality."

Tears welled up in the old woman's eyes, "But it was a trick. Eternal Life came with a price. The demon was not to be trusted." Her voice dissolved into sobs. She turned on her cot, facing away from us, her tiny body writhing in her agony.

My father turned to me, "We will leave her now."

"But the rest of the story. Father, what was the price?" I tugged on his arm at the door of the hut. It wasn't as if I believed it just yet, but the story had ended so abruptly, I had to know the rest.

My Father looked around, eying the others ambling around. "Let us go for a walk." He led me out of the camp, over an ice field, and past a few low-lying junipers.

"Father what is the price?" I asked again once I could no longer see the smoke of the dining hall.

"The Old Woman sometimes forgets to explain things. She has lived many times." I wanted to ask him what that meant. My thoughts were muddled, it was a fairy story, or better still, just a fable. That the Neanderthals had been alive all this time; well no one knew what had really happened to them. I could accept that, and that I was one of them. I had always known I was different. But immortality? I hadn't believed it when I read about the fountain of youth, or even when DeWittier kidnapped me. And I sure didn't believe it now. "Preposterous!" my history teacher scoffed again.

All this time, my father was looking into the distance, if he noticed my confusion, he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it, his lips pursed and then he began speaking "The Neanderthal Woman, or what she once was, asked the demon for power over the humans. She was given Immortality, the ability to live forever. She and the few kinsman with her were transformed into Exium Solus, stronger, more powerful. Their eyes were sharper allowing them to see further and better than man. They could hear better than man. We were invincible. But like the Old Woman said, we were tricked."

"We?" You make it sound like you were there." _Certifiable_, that's what I thought. Clearly he was delusional. I hoped it wasn't hereditary. Maybe if I caught it early?

He took a deep breath. "I was. I was the man who quarreled with the Old Woman's mother. The one who went back and found the body of her husband."

"How is that possible?"

"Please, give me a chance to explain." He took another deep breath and continued, "We do not live forever. Not in the way we wanted to. One day, the Old Woman, little older than you, took a fool hardy step off the side of the cliff. We only believed that we were invincible. We had never tested it before. Not to that extreme. We were wrong.

"It is difficult to explain in a language that is not my native tongue. Since it has never happened to humans, they have no words for it. The Old Woman was reborn, she appeared as a babe at the base of the cliff. Suddenly and before our eyes. We prayed to the demon, we made offerings. No one answered our call.

"We were at that time in the center of North America. One day, a herd of buffalo, surprised us. Three of our men died. I was among them."

"You died and then came back to life?" It was so fantastic. I looked him directly in the eye, testing him. "No, no, no! Not possible!"

He smiled ironically at me, "It is possible. You can test it if you would like." Was he suggesting…I looked at him, he nodded. Oh my goodness! He was! Was I just supposed to walk up to a cliff and…Why would he say that? And then I knew, because it was true. Shrewd man that he was, he knew exactly how to prove it to me.

He looked away again, probably reading my acceptance in my eyes, "I died and was reborn, as were many of the others, with a perfect recollection of my past life from birth. It is disconcerting to say the least to be a baby and remember what it was like to be a man but not be able to do a thing about it.

"It is impossible to live for centuries without mishap. Some have been more fortunate than others. It is odd for us, for our bodies are not the same as they were before. Our spirits are young, but our bodies are not, they age quickly with each subsequent life. I am older than the old woman, but fortune has not been kind to her, she has died many times. Her body cannot contain her spirit for much longer. After a few more cycles, she will ceased to exist, she will become as dust."

I was nauseated as I pictured the vivid imagery he was describing. "That," I swallowed the bile in my throat, "has happened before?"

"Yes, a few times. We are more careful now."

"How old am I then?" I held my breath, I had no memories of previous lives, but what if I was an expection?

"You are 16 turns of the earth, just as you thought."

"But I don't understand. I thought everyone here…"

"At one time yes, but a few turns ago we were fortunate to stumble upon another group. We were not the only Neanderthal group that had survived, we were not the only group cursed, the demon did not segregate. Our group's numbers had dwindled, so had theirs. We joined together. That was how I met your mother. Her clan was different, they were taller; warriors. My clan were the dreamers, the priests and priestesses.

"We inter-mated, to create a stronger race. Artha was born first. When she burned her hand as a young child and it healed so quickly, we knew the children would be like us. Others were born, Franken, Hem, Kershean, and you. Kershean was the son of Adar, the leader of your mother's clan. He was everything they hoped he would be. A marvelous hunter and warrior, he will be a very strong leader someday. His children will be stronger still. Someday we will have our revenge!" His eyes were glinting dangerously.

"Against the humans," he nodded. "But…There are…so many humans Father," I blustered.

His eyes glinted again, "Yes, but already we are stronger than them. It will not be long before we can exterminate them and be Kings again."

I found myself backing away slightly. "Does Kershean know about this?" Kershean wasn't the most morally conscious guy, but I had noticed that he had seemed to treat the people we had encountered fairly. He couldn't have agreed to such an atrocity.

My father's face clouded over, "Yes, but he is still young and foolish. He has other ideas about things. That will change with time." Meaning they would do everything within their power to change his mind.

"What about my mother? What is her opinion?" Surely she wouldn't have agreed to such an action.

"Her opinion does not matter. She was not the head woman, so she is just like the rest. She should have remained silent."

"Should have? So she did speak out?"

His face closed, and he barked, "It does not matter now!"

Why was he being so defensive all of the sudden? A new and devastating thought occurred to me "Did she…?" What was the phrase he used; 'turned to dust?' I couldn't say it, especially not about my own mother. How could I find her and lose her all in the same day? Here I had hoped that she would be back in a couple of days from whatever vacation or trip she was on.

My father seemed to understand, "She took you away from us. Hid you away. We assumed she was with you. When DeWittier found you alone and vulnerable we were just as surprised."

"You know of DeWittier?"

"He is like many others we have encountered before. They discover part of the truth, and want immortality for themselves without understanding the consequences."

"Shang-ri La, Ponce de Leon, those were all you weren't they?"

He nodded, "I was a baby in Shang-ri La, so I don't remember much. But I do remember Ponce de Leon. He stumbled onto our tribe in Florida, his body was racked with fevers and chills, already he was very sick with the ague. We took care of him as best we could and sent him on his way.

"Ponce de Leon was no threat to us in his condition. He has been the only human to ever stay with us. DeWittier is proving to be more troublesome than we had anticipated. We cannot seem to shake him."

"Why not just tell him what he wants to know."

"DeWittier is a madman. He has his mind set on immortality. He won't be happy with anything less." I did not refute it. I knew it was true. I remembered the little Englishman well. My Father stood, stretched, and led the way back to the others.

Back in camp, Neanderthals were grouped together talking and laughing normally, and not like they were planning Armageddon. My father moved among them suddenly happy and carefree. I looked at all of them studying them as a veritable stranger would. For the first time in my life I missed my mother.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

I quickly learned that the dinner I had attended the previous evening was not the norm. Instead, most meals were served cafeteria style, with the diners able to pick and choose between a number of selections. And instead of sitting at the middle table, they placed themselves in twos and threes around the room. My father, when I saw him at meals ate with a few of the older man and completely ignored me. That was fine with me since I doubted I was ready to learn anything more. My brain was a jumble trying to it work everything out. I ate quickly, avoided conversation, and spent a lot of time on my own in my sleeping quarters thinking.

The notion of living forever at first was very exciting. All the things I could ever want to do were now possible. I had years before me. I could see the Taj Mahal, visit the Orient, travel across America. I had all the time in the world. I daydreamed about it, making lists, trying to remember all the places I had ever thought about seeing. All the things I had always wanted to do. And then I laughed at myself; I had forever to remember. I was strong, I was invincible! I could do anything.

I sobered suddenly as an image of the Old Woman pushed its way into my thoughts. Decrepit, kept to her bed even if her mind was still as active as ever. One more 'accident' and she would waste away. She was stuck in the bed for fear of her body 'turning to dust.' Would her spirit live on as some type of ghost or spirit, unable to converse or to finally go to an eternal rest? How miserable that would be. I shuddered.

It really was a curse. Something that DeWittier in his limited understanding could not discern. I wondered where he was now. Obviously close by, Kershean had confirmed it. At least my father and the others seemed to be aware of him. And they didn't seem worried. I would leave it to them.

I fell asleep, my thoughts still on DeWittier and the last time I had seen him. I was sure that influenced my dreams that night.

It began back at lycée, in front of my green door, the one with the paint peeling. I opened it, and there was Cammy, unpacking some of her things from a cardboard box. Her portable T.V., her stereo. Several more boxes were scattered and stacked around the room. There was a weight around my own shoulders. A duffel bag, holding everything I owned.

Cammy looked up and saw me. She rose to her feet, smiling, her hand outstretched, "Hi, I'm Camilla O'Ryan, your new roommate. Everyone calls me Cammy. We are going to have so much fun this year!"

I remembered this. It was the first day of the school year: A memory of the past. I tried to reach out with my hand to shake hers but my hand drifted right through her palm. She didn't seem to notice just continued her chatter about the food (awful isn't it?), boys (some have sure filled-out over the summer), and classes (we have physics together, how exciting!). The image blurred and disappeared.

A new sensation, a tingling and wincing in my right leg. I was lying on the ground wrapped in leaves. My leg was now heavy and uncomfortable. For some reason there was this inexplicable need to stay as still as possible. I couldn't handle the feeling much longer. I rolled over.

"For the last time, will you stay still!" A familiar voice said. It was Kershean. That had been only a few days after we had been traveling together.

And then it was impossibly cold, even in the fur coat I was suddenly wearing. Instead of a forest floor I was in a grotto, Stalagmites rising from the ground, greeting and fusing with Stalactites. The entire floor was slippery ice. I tried to stay still trying to remain hidden against something I couldn't as yet identify. The wind was blowing, light coming from the western opening, a small hole in the side of the mountain. Who was I hiding from? It seemed dreadfully important. This was not a memory I was familiar with. A vision of things to come. I slipped my way into a corner as far from the entrance as I could, crouching, hiding!

I could hear the crunching of footsteps approaching. I heard the tap of a hiking pole as it hit the ice. Please let whoever it was pass by! The steps paused immediately outside the entrance.

I could no longer avoid looking at him, for he addressed me. "Ah Miss Samara. I have found you again." His British-accented French added a menacing edge to his words.

"DeWittier," I managed to choke out.

He didn't say a word but advanced on me, his face calm as ever, his eyes on fire, roasting with his menace, the closer he got to me, the hotter they became, my own skin sizzled and burned. I tried to flee, but the ice beneath my feet worked against me, I slipped, landing on my back on the ice. DeWittier brought his sharp hiking pole down on my hand methodically pressing the metal deep into the flesh. I cried out as he penetrated the skin. Blood poured from my hand and onto the ice, possessed, at least it was able to flee from the madman.

Suddenly, his head was directly beside my ear, "I have tired of you."

He picked me up as if I weighed nothing to him and carried me to a cliff's edge. My hands gripped his wrists holding as tightly as I could. I knew what he was about to do, "No! Please no!" Tears leaked out from the edges of my eyes. Without warning he dropped me. I fell, screaming, crying, until my heart gave out.

I was in front of a looking glass. My face was grey and wrinkly. My skin was falling off of my cheek bones and melting off of my chin. My eyes protruded, and one eyeball popped out and rolled away. I screamed horrified. I was the old woman!

My heart beat furiously as I awoke in my own cave, my breath coming in short gasps, my eyes furiously searched around me, I was in my cave, I was safe, my fingers reached up to touch my face. I will still myself. A loud gasp caught in my throat as a dark figure materialized at the door. My father approached.

"Shhh! You will wake the others." He sat beside me, excitement coursing through his frame, "You had a vision, yes?"

"What?"

"Foretelling dreams; visions. It is something our clan is known for." His eyes were steadfast on mine, "Will you tell me?"

I shook my head. "It was just a nightmare".

My father did not believe me, "No. I can see it in your eyes. It has been a long time since I have dreamed, not for several lives, but I know that look, I have seen it on my own face. You will tell me when you are ready." The significance of his words was not lost on me. He would be expecting an explanation eventually. He shifted on the ground and looked around the cave uncomfortably, as if he would say something else. Then as quickly as he had come, he was gone, the fur flapped door swaying behind him.

I fell back onto my pillow staring at the ceiling and listeneing to the wind whipping outside. What if DeWittier was out there waiting to pounce? I waited wide-eyed for minutes at a time, not blinking. If I slept, he would know, and then he would come for me! It would be much safer for me to lay here, very still, and very awake. He would think I was asleep, and then he would come…and I had no idea what I would do. The wind whipped through the door, attacking my cheeks and I pulled the covers over my head. I fell asleep without even noticing.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

As I grew more comfortable with the new situation I began to notice things that bothered me. Every morning, Artha would bring to my cave a dress of the finest velvet or silk, and of the brightest colors, red, purple, blue. It wasn't like I minded the extravagance until it occurred to me that Artha was dressed very differently. She always wore a simple brown shift, cinched at her waist. Like me she wore a vest of furs, but it was longer than my own and nowhere near as soft. All the other women were dressed like Artha. I didn't particularly like standing out from the crowd, "Artha, why are you dressing me in such fine clothing?"

She smiled and dipped her head. Curse the language barrier! I let her finish her final touches on my hair, only my tapping foot showing my impatience.

Walking to the dining cave I found my mather, "Father, why am I wearing clothes like these, when Artha and the other women dress so simply?"

"Ah yes. It is time I suppose."

"Time?"

He held up his hand, "Kershean is a wonderful boy. Considerate, strong. He will be a good mate."

"Why is this starting to sound like a sales pitch?"

His brow furrowed, "I don't understand."

I rolled my eyes, "Nevermind."

"You were designed for one another," his voice was a little bit clipped with annoyance.

"Excuse me?"

"Your child will be beautiful, stronger than ever before."

I sputtered. "What? I don't…With who?"

"Kershean, of course. He is your intended."

"Intended for what?" My eyes widened in alarm. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Surely not! The only understanding between Kershean and I was our mutual loathing for the other. Case and point, I had yet to see hide or hair of the egotistical wonder since I'd arrived in camp.

"He will be your mate. You were with the leaders of his clan your first night here, they approve."

"No!"

His eyebrows furrowed, "Yes."

"I don't think this is such a good idea." I muttered.

If he heard, he ignored it, "It is part of our tradition, to dress up our mates. Show them off, make those who are single jealous."

"Lucky me."

He heard the sarcasm and frowned, "It matters not what you think, it is how things are. Both of impeccable lineage…"

I cut him off, "But I don't even like him."

"In time…"

"And he doesn't like me," I threw in for good measure.

"That is not what makes an ideal mate." His tone was wistful as if he remembered something personal and unpleasant.

I hadn't considered, "Were you and my mother unhappy together?"

"Happiness was irrelevant. We did our duty."

It made me angry that he'd had such an awful experience with his own mate, and now he intended to foist the same situation onto his daughter, me, "Oh really, then where is she now?"

He grabbed me by the arm, dragging me away from our fellows, "You will not speak to me in such a way!" He pulled me by the arm, tugging me over the slippery ice, and across boulders, not slowing even when I almost lost my balance. He finally spoke again once we were alone, his voice calm again, "You must learn to show at least a modem of respect among the others."

I was rubbing at the red welt on my arm where his hand had gripped a little too tightly, "Excuse me?"

"It is expected."

"I am not going to kowtow to please anyone!" _Not even you._ I didn't say it but he understood anyway.

"And that is why you are your mother's daughter." It was almost meant as a slur, an insult.

But I didn't take it as such. I almost said 'thank you' but I thought that might be going a little too far. He had wanted me to feel bad. What exactly had occurred between my parents to make my father so bitter, "Why did my mother leave?"

Something flitted across his face though he answered easily enough. "I do not know." He was lying. But how do you accuse your parent of a falsehood?

"Do you know where she is?"

"She moves around a lot." Once again I was sure he wasn't telling everything he knew about the mystery surrounding my mother. I would get to the bottom of it. But not now. I had a much bigger concern at the moment.

"I bet she would never agree to this arrangement with Kershean." Something told me that her and my father had disagreed about a lot of things.

The look on his face told me that I had gotten pretty near the truth, I continued, "How can you barter with my happiness like this? Sell me off to the mate with the most potential, even if you know we won't suit."

He sighed, wearied, "It is how it is done."

"Does Kershean not get a say in this either?"

He frowned. Kershean sentiments were suddenly very clear, "He doesn't agree with this either does he?"

"It does not matter. It is how it is done." He repeated. "Kershean's people are getting anxious. We must retain good relations. You will move to Kershean's cave tonight. I can no longer delay."

I was touched that he had delayed the inevitable. But not enough. "Father, I cannot do this. You say this is the way of our people, but I am not "our people." I didn't know anything about this. I don't know your customs, your language. Out of nowhere Kershean kidnaps me and brings me here and now I'm supposed to…supposed to…" I couldn't even say it, the bile was already gathering. "I'm 16 years old, I've never even been kissed. Kershean and me? No, No! I can't. I won't."

"Daughter, you will!"

"This is my life. You can't just dictate who and when I will marry. You tell me I'm going to live forever. Fine, I can accept that! Good for me. I don't want to be tied down for the rest of existence to someone I hate. I want to cross the globe, absorb all the knowledge at every university, read every book ever written. Fall in love." My eyes were glistening with the possibilities.

"Those are human pursuits."

"So? Last week I still thought I was a human and going to go to université someday."

"This is your mother's…" He suddenly stopped and pressed his lips tightly together.

I had no such compunctions, "My mother's fault? Is that what you were going to say?"

"We will talk no more of her!"

I stomped my foot, "Why is there this restriction on speaking of her? Because she is not here? Not under your thumb like all the rest of the women?"

"You will not speak to me like that!" He hissed out. His anger had filled each one of his pores making him gigantic in his fury. For the first time he towered over me.

I faltered, "I…I..."

He was still breathing like a barreling locomotive, "In time daughter you must learn and understand our ways."

I had made him very angry, "Look I'm sorry alright? It's just so new."

"You must accept the way things are. In time…"

"Why do you keep saying that? How am I ever to understand anything if you won't teach me."

My father refused to answer. He simply spun on his heel and stomped away. And for a while I sounded like my own locomotive. Why was he refusing to tell me anything? Kershean, my lips curled as I thought of that vile boy, had promised me answers once we arrived.

Well we had arrived, and apart from a lot of silly pomp and circumstance and one cryptic story from an old woman, there had been nothing but confusion. For every question I managed to get answered, another two formed.

Why was my father so adamant about keeping me in the dark? His pride, it suddenly occurred to me: That thing I didn't know, that I couldn't even figure out, all centered around my mother and her defection. Had she left him of her own freewill? Escaped his tyranny? I could see how that would be offensive to him a threat to his masculinity as the head of his household. Something that prickled at his ego. Could that be it? Why he didn't want to talk about it, why he refused me answers? I would not give up though. He could not keep my mother from me forever.

After dinner, I moved my few belongings into Kershean's cave. I had nowhere else to go. Apparently the cave I had thought my own was actually Artha's. Artha's and her own mates. I realized there wasn't much I knew about her. There was a lot I didn't know about anything.

I sat in the snow, holding everything I had from my previous life in my hands, waiting and procrastinating. How long does it take to carry a pair of shoes and a torn pair of jeans 3 metres? For me? Half an hour.

Kershean's cave was like anyone else's. Or I should say, exactly like Artha's save a deficiency in one very large way. I was not alone in Kershean's cave. And I was cold. "You're stealing my covers."

He rolled over to face me. It brought him much closer to me than I was comfortable with. Even in the forest he had never been this close. "Stay on your side!"

"You are acting like a child." nevertheless he scooted back.

"I am a child." I felt someone should at least point that out since everyone had conveniently forgotten how young I was.

He ignored me, sighing heavily. "You are my betrothed. This is acceptable."

"Not for me!"

He huffed and rolled away, taking even more of the covers with him.

"Hey, I'm cold. Give me my blankets back!"

"These aren't blankets."

"Fur, pelt, whatever, just give me my part." I had probably gotten it wrong again, but at least he pushed some covers over to me. I scooted away from him as far as I could and curled up, the ice wall and I were going to be good friends tonight. Tomorrow, my father and I would have a conversation about this.

I woke up earlier than ever before the next morning, ready to climb over Kershean to get to the door, maybe land a few strategic kneecaps in some sensitive areas. But Kershean was already gone and I was very warm. What a sweetheart! After freezing half the night away because he was a chronic blanket hog, he had overcompensated by piling all of the furs on top of me before he left, leaving me to swelter from the heat! I threw them off and stormed out of the cave. I was itching to give my father a very large piece of my mind. I knew this could never work!

I heard high voices as I approached my father's cave speaking French.

"You are a man of sense. How can you agree to this?" That was Kershean!

"It was an agreement made long ago. You know we do not change our opinions easily, it is how we have survived," My father was placating.

"Look, one of us is going to kill the other! I'm betting on me being the first to break. She drives me crazy! And she does it on purpose."

I shrugged as I listened. Well yeah, mostly that was true.

What he said next was crueler than anything I had ever expected. It wasn't just what he said, it was how he phrased it, the tone of his voice, "She is a child, immature, with no desires to ever take responsibility for anything. She will drag us down with her attitude. She is not what we thought. Duty means nothing to her. She is no better than a human."

I blinked away the tears. What did they expect? I'd already had this conversation with my father. was raised human. I had thought I was human. How was I supposed to know that I was actually from some non-human tribe of people I thought were extinct? Just like in the museums, these two were trying to drag me around by my hair. I shuddered.

Kershean was so going to get it! But I never got the chance. He strode out of the cave before I had expected him, and looked at me steaming and blustering without even an ounce of surprise. It was like he knew I had been there the whole time. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. And he kept walking.

I thought about following, telling him exactly what I thought of him, but I was pretty sure he already knew and it wouldn't have bothered him a bit. I set off to my old cave, trying to shake off the feelings of rejection. Why did this bother me so much? I didn't like him either. But to know the dislike was reciprocated and in such a callus manner; that stung. He had chosen to be especially cruel.

I set off on a walk, down the mountain, around cliff faces, trying not to look at the long drop off. I tried not to cry. He wasn't worth it. He had probably forgotten all about it already.

There was a nice vista about half way down the mountain, a large area about 20 metres across. It overlooked the valley which was warm and still green. It was a stark contrast to my place on the mountain, surrounded by snowdrifts and boulders and small spiny shrubs. This was my new life, up here. My old life was moving away from me, dancing in that valley enticingly.

Everything was different now. Finishing lycée, attending université, making something of myself, those were all the dreams of my old life. Pitiable perhaps but they had been mine. And with DeWittier's sudden interest in me, my world had been turned upside down. I had found my real family and a whole new life was before me. And all of the sudden, everything I had ever believed in, everything I had ever expected was kicked onto its ear. I refused to be changed into something I was not. It was wrong to expect that of me. Wasn't it?

"Beautiful," a voice said very near to my ear.

I shrieked and twirled around rather awkwardly.

"Sorry I didn't mean to startle you," I was rewarded with a brilliant smile from a handsome face. Not one I had never seen before. He was taller than me but just barely. His dark hair was short, his face clean shaven with a strong angular nose and jaw. His large almond eyes held not a trace of boyishness. He couldn't be much older than me. 18 perhaps?

I smiled too, apparently it was contagious.

His eyes flicked to the view again, "It's a nice prospect from up here. A good place to think."

I finally found my voice, "It is." Then I frowned, thinking. He had probably found it first and wanted to be alone, "I hope I'm not interrupting your solitude."

He laughed, "Is that your way of telling me to get lost?"

I blushed. "No, I. . .that's not what I meant. It doesn't bother me if you stay."

He backed away, his palms up. "I can tell when I'm not wanted," he said, half laughing.

"No really, I don't…"

He smiled that brilliant smile again complete with very straight, very white teeth, "I'll see you around Samara. I guarantee it."

I watched him as he walked away, his head held high, his shoulders back. If he was offended he sure didn't look it. At the last rise before the path curved and disappeared, he turned and waved. I barely caught the sardonic smile present on his lips.

He was an odd one, joking and teasing me like that. Out of place among the rest of the Neanderthal's, the "Exium Solus" as my father called them. Like me. I felt happier than I had in days. Maybe I didn't have to be lonely anymore.

It was silly, I chided myself a moment later. I barely knew the boy. He seemed to know me though. That WAS odd. I was pretty sure I knew everyone in the camp, or had at least seen everyone before. I shrugged. It wouldn't do to worry about it now. He said we would meet again. I could ask him about it then.

My brain shifted to weightier matters. Kershean. It was enough to send a girl into the complete doldrums. Well perhaps not that low. It wasn't like I was going to fling myself off a cliff. I would just come back to life anyway. That prompted a smile. I had always been on the more cautious side of the fence, never being brave, never trying anything remotely dangerous. I found myself laughing in such a macabre moment as a sudden memory hit me. Me clinging for dear life onto Kershean as he sped through the countryside. No wonder he had enjoyed it so much. Kershean. Sigh. My good mood vanished instantly.

What kind of person deliberately insults a girl, knowing she could hear every word? I already knew I didn't measure up in the looks department. His initial impression of me had made that painfully clear. And I was horribly backward in this new life. I didn't wash with cold water and I slept too long and asked too many questions. But he didn't have to be so cruel. If I had been more compliant I would already be his mate! Ugh. My tenaciousness had served me well in that regard at least.

I squared my shoulders, I was being one of those girls! I would no longer let his words affect me. In fact in time I hoped to be able to say that I was grateful for them. They would save me from a life I didn't want, spent in agony with such a man.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

I returned to the cave I had shared the previous night with Kershean, prepared to pack up my belongings. The few I had anyway. It would be much easier to appear unaffected if I didn't still have to share a sleeping space with him.

I wasn't sure what to expect. A sulking Kershean? An angry Kershean? But if he didn't want me any more than I wanted him, why would he care? Maybe I would find a "thank goodness I got out of that" Kershean. Ditto, I thought, smiling. But he rarely did what I expected, I prepared for battle, just in case. What I found I had not anticipated: An empty cave. All of Kershean's belongings were gone. Once again he had beaten me to the insult.

Well alright then. I will have to be bigger person. I will be the adult for once. Eat that Kershean! Or perhaps a pseudo adult and build from there. No one said an adult had to be mature all of the time. It was a new day, I would have a new attitude. I would confront my father, in a very adult way about all of his expectations for me. I would not use phrases like, "That's not fair," or "I don't understand." I would listen calmly and rationally as he explained things. And I would not ask too many questions. That seemed to annoy people. All in all some pretty good resolutions I thought.

Shoulders back once again, I approached my father's cave for the second time today. "Okay dad, here's the thing…" No, too blunt. "See Dad, Kershean hates me just like I said he did." Too confrontational with a dash of I told you so.

Dash? I sniffed the air realizing that my stomach was grumbling. Something sure smelled good. I knew I was in trouble when I started using cooking references. Perhaps I would confront him after lunch. A full stomach would surely help me think better!

The food was delicious as always. If I kept eating this way I wouldn't be skinny for long. Then Kershean really would have something to complain about. I snorted at my own joke.

My father surprised me before I had even finished eating, "Kershean has left for a time."

I swallowed a particularly large piece of bread, too quickly and held back a cough, "Uh." Whatever I had been expecting it wasn't that. My mouth opened and closed like a fish but my apparent stupor belied the relief I felt. Kershean had done me a favor.

"He's going on a soul search." My father felt he needed to add

Whatever that meant, "Okay?" I replied, still unsure of how I was supposed to take the news. Did this mean we were no longer intended? Or was this only a temporary solution? My mind could only conjure up a single thought. Reprieve. I cleared my throat, "When will he be back?"

"A soul search has no definitive time limit."

"So a while then." I said dryly. My father cracked his first smile.

"Yes. So you have time now to integrate. Get to know your people. Make friends, learn your duties." I cringed inwardly at the word "duties," wondering exactly what that entailed, and instantly retreated to my ten-year-old self, chores, eww!

Though I was still a bit confused I nodded anyway, determined to keep to my new resolutions. Perhaps I could learn the language: That would help me get to know my people. Learning a new language would definitely occupy my time. And now there was no point in presenting my side of things since Kershean had taken it upon himself to relieve us both, at least for a time, of our impending union. Perhaps by the time he returned things will have changed.

I set off to find Artha, she knew enough rudimentary French that perhaps she could teach me some of the Exium Solus language. Artha wasn't hard to find. She was alone and outside of her cave, stringing some beads onto a thin twine.

"Hello, Artha." I greeted her not sure if I could just walk up to her without an invitation.

She looked up and immediately smiled, "Samara!" She climbed to her feet, putting her beads and thread off to the side, "Come, Come."

"How are you?" She smiled and nodded. I don't think she caught that one. Perhaps we could teach each other.

No time like the present, I thumped my chest with my fist, "Good."

She looked at me blinking quickly and frowning.

I tried again, "Samara, Good." I thumped my chest again.

She bent her head down and leaned towards me placing her ear directly over my heart. Obviously instead of thinking I was an utter loon, she thought I had some type of heart condition. She moved away again after she was satisfied that I was healthy.

I was beet red with embarrassment, "I want to talk like you. The Exium Solus." She looked puzzled, "Talk, learn the language."

She grinned, "Achi."

"Achi? Is that yes?" She nodded.

At the end of an hour I had the beginnings of a braided and beaded bracelet and I had learned 15 words. I said thank you, "agretarek" to Artha as she finally excused herself to go meet her mate Franken. He was a gatherer.

I wondered suddenly what my father did. I had never thought to ask. Perhaps I should, my new found attitude prompted. I was feeling good about myself, like I had accomplished something worthwhile, noteworthy even. Maybe I wasn't worth anything to Kershean but that didn't mean I couldn't be important to everyone else. Head high, I headed out away from my, I mean, Artha's cave and ran headfirst into a warm brick wall.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

I looked up and blushed to the tips of my ears. It was the boy from earlier. "Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."

He chuckled, "Yeah I got that. Where were you off to so quickly?"

I didn't want to say, certain that it would only make me look and feel stupid, "Nowhere in particular." I opted for distraction, "You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry yourself."

He rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed but it only made him look mischievous and utterly gorgeous. "I was looking for you actually. I said I would see you again."

"I guess you did." I smiled, "You missed a fabulous lunch by the way." The boy was grinning back at me. I realized I was missing something quite vital. "I was hoping you would make it too. I never got a chance to get your name, odd since you seem to know mine. And I'm pretty sure we have never met?" I finished with a cheeky grin.

It was his turn to blush, "Yeah. Uh…Sorry about that. I'm Daemon." He stuck out his hand, then took it back. Then he tried for an awkward kind of a bow. "Sorry, I'm not quite sure how you Frenchies do it."

I stuck my hand out and grasped his lightly for a moment before letting it go.

"Oh that's a relief, I thought we would have to kiss or something." His black eyes went wide, "Not that kissing you would be bad. Uh…I didn't want to assume…Okay, I'm just going to shut up now."

I laughed, I had to. He was adorably muddled. "So Daemon, why haven't I seen you around?"

His eyes became mysterious, dark pools of the unknown, "I like to travel. See the world. I only come back periodically, to see the parents, let everyone know I haven't died yet."

Travel? _Be still my heart,_ "Where have you gone?"

He smiled smugly, "Oh anywhere and everywhere. I've wrestled crocodiles in Florida, though I wouldn't recommend it." He took on a superior pose, "Highly overrated."

I laughed. This day was really looking up. "What else?" He was living my dream. I was feeding off of him like a leech, desperately wanting an escape from a lifetime of promised boredom.

"I've been base jumping all over the place. Victoria Falls, China, Alaska. I liked that one. I've seen all of man's wonders, swam in every ocean, hiked in the Amazon and the Everglades." His eyes were thoughtful.

"Take me with you?" I said without even realizing it.

He looked me over appreciatively, "Yeah, you definitely look like you are in need of a vacation. I'll see what I can do, though I'm not sure your sweetheart Kershean would appreciate it."

How did everyone know about that? I tried to remain calm, "Oh, he's gone. Didn't you know?"

"Really?" He waggled his eyebrows about, "This ought to be interesting." My heart pounded wildly in response. He looked around him, "This is an interesting place. Must different then the last."

"Have you not been here before?"

"No, I've been gone for a while. I liked the ice caves though. Very…homey." His voice was ironic. Ah, Neanderthal's living during the last Ice Age. Got it.

"How did you find it then?"

"I have my ways." T_hat _sounded like someone else I knew. He cleared his throat all mirth gone, "I run into Kershean every now and again. Or he runs into me?" I scowled at the name; Daemon noticed. "Ah, I see you have a similar opinion about your 'sweetie pie.'"

I guess my eyes were doing that flashy thing again they sometimes do when I'm annoyed. Especially when I'm annoyed about a particular person. "Let's just say we aren't on the best terms," I said trying to be diplomatic and adult. "Why did everyone know about this but me?" I kicked at a rock sending it flying into the cosmos. Well, I wish it did.

"That bad huh?"

"He's just so…And then…Argh." I didn't realize until I heard him laughing that I was struggling, trying to choke the air in between my fists. "Yeah, not the best of friends." I finished weakly.

He chuckled, a rich timber from deep in his gut, "I think I got that. You know he's the golden child around here?"

"I think it went to his head."

"Oh most definitely," he nodded sagely, then grinned, "But enough about him. Let's talk about something else. So you've caught the traveling bug."

I shook my head, "No, I've always had it I guessed. Even when I was a little girl. I would look at these pictures in this old faded encyclopedia. Pictures of Rome, Chichen Itza, the Great Wall. They were so beautiful, but I knew I was still missing out only seeing them in pictures."

He nodded like he understood, "Where would you want to go first, if you could go anywhere in the world?"

That was an easy one. "It's not really a 'where' specifically. I would search for my mother."

He shook his head briefly as if disgusted, "Your father didn't tell you then?"

"Tell me what?"

"Oh, he probably know exactly where she is right at this very second. They almost always know. It's hard to hide from them." He shook his head again then muttered, "Believe me I've tried."

I hardly caught it and I didn't even bother thinking on it, I was too choked on my indignation, "They know? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Probably because they still believe in that whole archaic idea that girls don't need to be bothered with the details. Don't let them treat you like that." He flashed me another one of his smiles, "You're special, I can tell. Make sure they know." He looked behind me studying something in the distance, "Look, uh, I've got to go. I'll see you later." And like that he was gone, leaving me shaking with rage.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

You should never go to bed angry.

I had the dream again: The one with all the memories, culminating in DeWittier finding me on a precarious cliff, and tossing me over. This time it skipped right to the end with DeWittier his arm outstretched, me held in his clutches then dropped over the cliff. I woke in a cold sweat in what had been Kershean's cave.

DeWittier really _was_ coming. The dream had been urgent, my subconscious warning me that I would come face to face again with my nemesis very, very soon. I wouldn't have much time. This time I could get help if I wanted it.

I could go to the warriors, to Kershean's family. They were strong, they would take care of Kershean. I could even go to my father beg him for help. Or I could handle DeWittier on my own. Be my own savior without having to rely on anyone. I settled on option C. It would convince everyone of my worth.

But I would need a little help. Option D: Ask Daemon for help. He had already proved to be a valuable friend to me. But I didn't really know how to find him, he kept finding me. I guess I could sit still, wait for him to show up. That could take a while. He seemed like the type to wander about during the day. So if I wanted to wander into him I should probably go for a walk. My stomach grumbled as something particularly delicious wafted through the air; right after lunch.

My plan was a good one and it didn't take long to find him. I turned a corner and suddenly he was there. I squeaked, how did he keeping popping out of nowhere?

After he toned down his laughing to mere chortles, he finally managed to say, "Hi."

"I've been looking for you."

He nodded smugly, "Yeah I figured that. I've been watching you from up there," his thumb jerked upward to a tall overhanging rock.

I grinned sheepishly, "Oh."

"So here I am," he walked closer, "What can I do for you?" His voice was soft and husky.

"It's silly, but I need you to teach how to walk across the ice?"

"Pardon?"

"I slip all of the time, I look stupid."

"I very much doubt you could ever look stupid."

I blushed. I sure did that a lot around him, "Okay, so I feel stupid. Can you help me?"

He tapped a finger to his lips, "Perhaps." I playfully scowled at him, "Oh well when you put it like that," dramatic sigh, "I'm in."

"So very gallant of you." I was flirting outrageously!

He rubbed his hands together, "Alright, let's go find some ice!"

It wasn't hard, not with a mountain covered in snow that had spent the last few days melting and then refreezing. We were standing only a few yards from the tribe camp at the edge of a large ice field.

"Okay, the first thing you need to do is point your feet out to the side and put some distance between the heels, like this!" He demonstrated with his own feet.

I tried to mimic his stance and promptly fell onto my butt on the cold ice, "Ow!"

He walked towards me carefully and helped me to my feet, "Lesson number two, bend at the knees slightly. And lean forward too. Put your center of gravity over your feet."

"Where did you learn this?" I said as I mimicked his stance.

"On the internet," he said jokingly, then grinned. I tried to grin back but it was sloppy. A Neanderthal surfing the web. It was almost an oxymoron.

Then I felt very stupid once I noticed what he was wearing. Heavy snow pants and a Columbia jacket. I looked down at my own clothes. Furs and hand spun cotton. I looked more like a Neanderthal than he did.

"And then you walk," Daemon said, ignoring my silence. "Take really small steps and walk flat footed."

"What if I have to run?" I asked as I inched along feeling like I wasn't making any progress.

"Don't. You'll probably fall if you do."

I would have to run if I wanted a chance against DeWittier, "And if I fall?"

"Try to fall on something fleshy, like your side." I nodded and moved towards him slowly. He snickered softly, "You look like an old lady shuffling along. Put your arms out to balance. You'll be able to move faster."

I was almost to him when a sudden insecurity hit and I faltered and skidded forward and right into him. He grabbed me tightly to him. Even through his heavy jacket and my furs I could tell how strong he was. I giggled and looked up at him, expecting him to be laughing or smiling along with me. He was looking at me, his eyes impossibly black, and unknown emotion burning in their depths. Our eyes locked.

I could feel my cheeks burning with emotion and I broke the eye contact first, "Sorry about that." It was all I could think to say.

"Are you okay?" His voice was soft, full of concern.

I nodded into his shoulder, then stiffened a bit when I realized he was still holding on to me tightly. He felt my body tense and he let go. Very, very slowly. "Yeah, I'm good. Um…uh… thanks for catching me. I think my heart is beating a mile a minute," I was nervous and babbling. I shut up.

He looked at me long and hard. "Let's go get some lunch," he whispered. He took my hand in his and led me slowly back across the ice. I tried to tell myself that it was for my own safety, but my heart smugly did not agree.

We walked through camp, and Daemon did not yet let go of my hand. Even when some of the women tending the cooking fires stopped and stared at us, their mouths open, eyes wide. My stomach was all aflutter, I had never felt this way about anyone before. Not Jamie, and definitely not Kershean! And I wanted this, whatever it was to continue. I wanted to feel like this about someone, and Kershean was not that someone. My father and everyone else might think differently, but I just couldn't bring myself to care right now. Not with Daemon's fingers gently rubbing my own.

My mettle took a nosedive as we entered the eating hall and I dropped his hand once I noticed several of the influential members of Kershean's tribe sitting near the door. Enraging them was not something I was ready for. I would have liked to sit beside Daemon while we ate. Instead I chose a pillow across from him, my hands in my lap.

I tried to remain demure so as not to draw the interest of Kershean's family, but everything Daemon said was entirely too interesting. He and he answered all of my questions honestly and with a forthrightness that was sadly missing among the other inhabitants of the mountain.

"Why do the men treat the women so badly here?" I asked him as we watched a woman walk head down and behind her mate out of the dining hall.

He pursed his lips, "It's not like they _think_ they are treating them badly. Neanderthals are still of the hunter/gatherer mindset. The male hunts and gathers the food, the female stays and tends the camp. She does not see the world so it stands that she cannot understand much as she does not _know _much. The male becomes the center of her universe, she is expected to do his bidding."

I dropped my utensil, "But that's awful."

He shrugged, though his eyes agreed with me silently, "The women here don't know any different. They never have. Even if you learn the language you'll have an uphill battle trying to convince them to riot."

"How did you know about that?"

"I have spies everywhere." He waggled his eyebrows at me.

I smiled and leaned towards him serious once more, "Why can't I convince them?"

"Because they care about their mates, some of them such as Artha and Franken even love each other."

I thought of my own parents, my face screwed up in doubt. "All of them?" My voice was heavy and ironic.

His eyes narrowed, "Well most of them anyway. Anyway, my point is; think what would happen to that relationship if suddenly the females all demanded changes. The males would grow angry and resentful. Perhaps they would abandon their mates. The women won't risk that."

I shoved some food in my mouth to control the outburst that was sitting on the tip of my tongue. Daemon didn't deserve my ire, he was only the messenger. Daemon looked at me carefully, somehow sensing my unease, I smiled crookedly at him around a mouthful of food. He nodded and turned to his own meal. We ate in silence. It was getting late, the chefs had already cleared all the other tables.

And Daemon and I were alone, the cooks had left for their fire pits to begin the evening meal, "What about what my father says? Making a superior race to annihilate the humans?" I asked timidly, "Is that true?"

He frowned and his face was very serious, "Yes it's true."

I shook my head disbelieving, "And that's it? You are just going to go along with it?"

He held up his hands, "Hey I agree with you. One of the reasons why I'm not around much. I can't seem to convince them others. It's very frustrating," he chewed on his lip.

"Do they even have a chance? I mean there are a lot of humans."

"It's not like they are planning on doing it tomorrow or anything," he frowned, "Though I have to admit, if they could come up with a plan that was viable before then they wouldn't hesitate."

"How can they expect to kill all of humanity?"

"Don't know. Some type of weapon I suspect. The humans have stuff like that don't they?"

"Nuclear weapons?" My stomach cinched, "Would they really do that. Everyone would die! Even us?"

"And?" he eyed me shrewdly.

"And we come back to life, and they don't. Hadn't thought of that I guess." I snapped my fingers, "Except Radiation. Its half-life is huge."

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I don't know what any of that means."

"Radiation like, eats your skin," I pushed my plate away and he did the same, "I know we are pretty resilient," I raised my hand, when he tried to interrupt, "My father told me. But I don't think even _we_ could survive something like that. We'd have to built a bomb shelter or…" I shut my mouth immediately. Why was I helping to plan the extinction of all of humanity?

"You'll probably want to keep that to yourself."

"Yeah." I smiled tightly.

"Maybe when you are their queen, you can talk them out of it." I thought he was mocking me until I saw the look on his face, he was serious, expecting me to still give in to my father's demands without a hint of struggle.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands, "Please don't remind me."

"What is it exactly that is so repulsive about Kershean? I've seen the way the human women react to his appearance. They drool all over themselves. What did he ever do to you?"

"It's not like you like him either," I felt the need to point out.

"No, but that's different." His voice was cold, closed off. I wanted to know what Kershean had done to him but I could tell he considered the subject closed.

"He just…" I began again, "he scowled and snarled at everything I ever said to him. He treated me like a prisoner. That's one of the reasons I was so shocked when my father told me he was supposed to be my mate. All the time we traveled together he acted like he hated me." Daemon blew the air out of his cheeks, "Yeah, Kershean always runs into trouble with the ladies once he opens his mouth."

"I don't doubt it. Yet all my father ever wants to talk about is how great Kershean is." I mimicked my father's high voice, "He's such a great warrior and he'll be a father to such strong babies." I shook my head disgusted. "And maybe those virtues were super attractive like a gazillion years ago, but I'm not going to put up with his attitude. Especially because I _know_ exactly how he feels about me. And the feeling is mutual, believe me! What I really don't get is why my father thought that if he sent Kershean to kidnap me I would simply abandon not just my old life but my very identity and suddenly be some submissive uneducated wife or slave! My mother didn't allow that kind of thing, why should I?" I realized I was seething. "Look, let's talk about something else, okay?"

"I have no problem with that. We were discussing the plight of the Neanderthal woman." "Yes," I sighed, "and you have told me it was a hopeless cause. So I will give up trying to emancipate the other women, for now. But I'll come up with a plan, you'll see," I waggled my finger at him. "There is something I just have to know where did they get all this fabulous food?"

"We forage," he said it like it was obvious.

"Yeah, but I was always under the impression that foraging was about finding nutritious tree roots and cooking bugs and such." I held up my utensil, "These aren't bugs and tree roots." When Daemon didn't immediately respond my eyes grew wide, "They aren't really bugs and tree roots are they?" His loud laughter nearly shook the mountain. I didn't think it was _that_ funny.

He wiped the tears out of his eyes after a moment, "No they aren't bugs and tree roots. Mostly chicken. There is a chicken pen in the back." He pointed behind him.

"Then what do they forage for?"

He put his hands behind his head, "It's really just a nice way of saying they borrow a lot."

"You mean stealing."

"Everyone shares here, stealing has no meaning."

I remembered how Kershean's reacted when I called him a thief and snorted, "Yeah I noticed that. Why can't they just buy the food? Don't they have money?"

"Yeah, they've got plenty of money, and they _do_ buy some stuff."

"Why not all the time?"

"Don't know. I've never been a forager. From what I understand, if they pass a farm with ripe produce, they will pilfer some. Everyone likes vegetables right off the vine. Tastes better really?" I nodded. I would be crazy not to admit that the food here was excellent. He continued, "In the winter they will go to the market for produce."

"So they have plenty of money then?" He hadn't really said, but it sounded like that was the case.

"Most definitely. They sell furs and jewelry sometimes, and they've collected money and gold over the years."

"Then why did Kershean make us walk?" I was whining, but I didn't care.

"They elders," my brow furrowed at the unfamiliar word, "The group of male leaders that make the decisions," he explained, "they are a bit stingy. They don't give up money easily."

So how about traveling? How do you pay for all of that? I don't expect that they are willing to pay for it.?"

"No, they don't. I do odd jobs here and there." He didn't elaborate. There was something in his tone that told me it would be fruitless to ask for more information. But I couldn't stop from wondering. What _did_ he do? And why didn't he want me to know?

Yet another secret to add to my lengthening list. There were so many things I wanted to know, and he was being very informative. I didn't want to offend him, so I let it go. "Okay, so there foragers for the food. You and Kershean are scouts, and then there are cooks, obviously. What about everyone else?"

"Well you do have the leaders, or nobles." He lowered his voice drastically, "or the lazies as I prefer to call them."

"Why's that?" I asked, lowering my voice too.

"They have meetings sometimes to prove that they are active, but mostly, they just sit around, thinking up ideas. Like the one that decided you would be mated with Kershean."

I almost said, "So there the ones who come up with the stupid ideas." Better to keep that little nugget to myself. One of the cooks had just entered the dining hall so instead I asked "Is my father one of these leaders?"

"Mostly yeah, he's kind of a figurehead I guess. The hierarchy really comes from the other tribe."

"And everyone else?"

"Well you know Artha right?" At my nod he continued, "She does beadwork for the women and occasionally she sells some of them. Then you have a few men who hunt animals and then skin them for pelts. Not a job I would want, but hunting has always been pretty prestigious. And we have the ractashists."

"The what?"

"They make the material for the clothes. French doesn't have an adequate word to describe it. We use a completely different process than humans."

"Oh? Is that everybody then?"

"Pretty much. We have the Old Woman whom you've probably met?" I nodded again, "Yes, well she's has been an invalid for a very long time. Before that I think she made pottery."

"So everyone has a job then. What am I supposed to do?"

"Just sit there and let people look at you?" He smirked.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. You are a member of the elitist crowd, you aren't expected to do anything."

"Oh, fabulous. Not only do I get to be a 'lazy,' but I'm a female lazy which means I'm not even qualified to sit around thinking up the ideas. Just great!" I looked around me frustrated. "But I want to do something. I have to do something. Maybe I could learn to cook, or help Artha make beads, or…I glanced back at Daemon, "What?" He was shaking his head.

"Not a good idea."

"I'm going crazy here! Like waiting around for fate to finally catch up to me." I thought of DeWittier, he was still coming, "I hate this!"

He stroked his chin for a long moment. "You know, I think your mother was the Old Woman's apprentice potter for a while. I don't think she's chosen another since. We haven't really needed one, but we will eventually I suppose and the old woman won't be around forever…"

I interrupted him, "Doesn't she have a name? I feel like I'm being rude referring to her as the Old Woman all of the time."

He laughed. "You ask some very weird things. Yes, she has a name, but it's forever long. Several names combined into one. It's difficult to pronounce and even harder to remember. Perhaps if you became her apprentice she would teach it to you."

"Do you think I have a chance at it?"

He shrugged, "Why not, like you said, everyone else here already has a job. You won't have much competition. Have you ever made anything out of clay before?"

"Nope."

"Well at least you won't have to unlearn any bad techniques."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence. I think."

He smiled and then his face turned serious. "And you know," he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on the table. "My cave is very near to the Old Woman's hut. Very convenient if you know, you wanted to come by to visit." The last was said in one quick breath.

He was so cute when he was nervous. "I would like that a lot actually."

He looked around room, it was beginning to fill for dinner. He frowned at several faces and rose to his feet, "Well I think we've garnered quite enough attention for today. See you around Samara."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

I awoke refreshed and quite early the next morning. Even the fact that I had to sleep under Kershean's furs and in Kershean's cave did not sour my mood. Daemon was so wonderful! Handsome, funny, smart. And best of all, he was interested in me! That was enough to make any girl thrilled to be alive.

My new mood was invading my limbs, convincing me that it was too perfect a day to remain idle. I thought about going to see the Old Woman about applying as her apprentice. Now that was a good idea. But wait…she didn't speak French and even if she did I couldn't just walk into her hut could. I bet she required some type of audience request. How did I do that? And who could I use as a translator?

The easy answers to both of those questions was my father. But I didn't want him to sour my mood. He was always so determined to manipulate my life to suit _his_ view of how things should be. He didn't want me to see my mother, so he pretended like he didn't know where she was. He wanted me to marry Kershean so he turned a blind eye to all of the egotistical wonder's faults. He probably didn't want me to be a potter either. Instead he would want me to, how did Daemon put it? Oh yeah, sit there and let people look at me. Some duties. I settled on going to see Artha before I spontaneously combusted with rage.

My plan to visit her was two-fold, I could use another language lesson, and she would probably know how to approach the Old Woman as well as being able to act the part of a translator, her French wasn't perfect, but I'd rather deal with her mistaken translations than having to deal with a cantankerous father.

I peeked into her cave to see if she was alone. Her mate was sleeping underneath the furs beside her while she weaved some beads and twine together. "Hi Artha." I said as quietly as I could.

"Hi Samara," she answered me in French. She looked at her mate, "We go outside: You and I. He is very…" she struggled for a word.

I tried to help, "Tired?" I yawned to illustrate my point.

"Yes, tired." She tested the new word out and decided she liked it.

We sat outside as she continued to weave, and I tried to follow her instructions as I worked on my own bracelet. Each of my hand movements was clumsy and erratic, while hers moved quickly and smoothly. I was barely paying attention to my hands, and Artha would frequently stop what she was doing to correct my blatant mistakes. I was too busy trying to figure out how was I to explain that I needed to see the Old Woman in the 15 Neanderthal words I knew? Perhaps it would be easier to ask Artha about visiting the Old Woman in French. She probably would understand it better anyway since I really brutalized the few Neanderthal words I could say.

I had just opened my mouth to speak, when she suddenly growled, "Daemon bad man."

My mouth continued its downward motion. She didn't look at me but went back to weaving calmly as if she hadn't said a word. Maybe I had imagined it, "Excuse me?"

"Bad man, Daemon."

Okay. That was what I thought she said, "No he isn't!" I blustered, "He's nice. Daemon is a good man, he's my friend." She looked confused. Maybe I was complicating things. I tried to clarify, "You and I, friends. Daemon and I, friends."

She nodded. "Artha and Samara friend. Daemon bad friend for Samara."

My eyes narrowed, "Did my father tell you to say these things to me?"

"No." Her face was innocent, "Daemon, bad friend. Kershean better friend."

What was with these people? Even Artha had been tainted! I leapt to my feet, the beads in my lap scattering, "I'll see you later Artha," I didn't wait to see if she understood.

Only Daemon seemed to share my opinions. He was smart and good! Why couldn't Artha see that? My father had been meddling again. Even if Artha denied it I knew it was true. I could hear him now, "You are meant for Kershean! You will obey Kershean!" Yeah right. If that was how he was going to be I would just spend time with Daemon. He and Artha had no reason to dictate who I could be friend with. It was the wrong attitude to have I admit but I was too enraged just then to care.

I stomped past the dining hall passing people as I went, engaged in various activities. One woman was pulling the seeds out of raw cotton. A man, her mate probably, was tanning fur behind her. They looked up as I passed and stared, their hands falling from their work. I wanted to stick out my tongue at them but eve I admitted that was a bit juvenile. I settled for just ignoring them. Another group stood conversing together. They went quiet and turned to look at me. I looked down at my clothes. Nothing out of place. I absently rubbed my face checking to see if it was clean. Why was everyone staring at me? I walked a little faster.

I was brought up short once I reached the Old Woman's. There were more caves here than I had expected. How was I ever to figure out which one Daemon lived in? They all looked the same, completely identical. Every the doorways was covered with the same colored animal pelt and they were worn and old as if their inhabitants had been living behind them for a very long time. But I knew that Daemon hadn't been here for long. So which cave was his

A figure emerged from the third cave on the left. It was Daemon: My lucky day! His forehead was creased with worry until he saw me. Then his face broke out in a fantastic grin. My breath caught in my throat. He was better looking than I remembered.

"Hey there, apprentice potter! How are you?" he called enthusiastically. I walked towards him.

"I haven't figured out how to ask the Old Woman yet. I would need someone to speak for me. Could you do it?"

He shook his head, "Not me, sorry. Why don't you ask your father?"

"You think he would actually let me become a potter?"

His teeth worried his lower lip for a moment, "Good point. Was that the only reason you came to see me?" His grin was one part smug, three parts hopeful.

"No. Well partially, I guess. I actually came about something Artha said."

His face clouded a bit, "Really?" He led me over to a large rock carved with two seats, one lower than the other. He sat in the higher of the two. The top of my head was just level with his shoulder. "Did she say something offensive?"

"Not about me." He looked on, encouragingly. I took a deep breath, "It was about you."

"Me?" He was not even surprised it seemed, "And that bothered you?"

I looked up at him, expecting that mocking smile of his. Instead he seemed genuinely concerned. "Yeah it did. I don't like it when people try to tell me who I can be friends with."

He put his hand around my shoulders pulling me to him, comforting me. "Hey, come on. I thought we decided you were going to be your own person."

"Yeah, I guess I didn't expect that kind of resistance. Not from Artha especially."

I felt his chin rest lightly on the top of my head and I closed my eyes. How could someone so caring be a bad friend for me?

"Artha might have only said it because your father told her to speak to you."

I frowned, my bliss forgotten, "Maybe. But she made it seem like it was all her idea. She could have been lying but it didn't seem like it."

"That's…odd." Once again he seemed hardly surprised.

"I thought you and Artha were friends."

"We are…kind of…" His voice was soft, and faded away, like he was thinking of something else even as he was speaking. He snapped the fingers of his free hand suddenly and gripped me tighter to him, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arm in his excitement, but hey I wasn't complaining. "I get it! They want you for Kershean. They think I'm getting in the way."

I looked up at him, my heart was pounding widely. He was looking down at me, his eyes dark, each a molten furnace of emotion, "Are you getting in the way?" I asked him even as I felt my body edging closer to his.

He stared into my eyes, and then his eyes focused on my lips. "Definitely."

He moved in quickly, his lips mere millimeters from mine. He paused once more. "Is that okay?" He breathed.

I could hardly nod. And then he kissed me, his lips so incredibly soft against mine. It was light and wet, and hot and wonderful all at once. He wrapped both arms tightly around me hugging me to him. His own heart was beating so fast, and in perfect tandem with my own. All my senses were in overdrive, it was making me dizzy. So this was what heaven was like? I didn't want the moment to end. I would stay happily fused to his lip forever.

It was the most perfect feeling in the world. Something so poignant that if you could bottle it up you would make a fortune. It was beautiful and delicious and addicting all at once. Like a drug to an addict, or perfected filet mignon to a food critic. But even that wasn't quite right. Whatever it is, I could live in it.

He pulled back very slowly looking into my eyes, suddenly shy. I smiled at him. He grinned back, his expression completely blissful. "I think I need to have a nice long talk with your father." He finally said.

That sent me crashing back down to earth. My father would not respond positively to such a conversation. "Are you sure?"

He looked hurt, "I thought since we…I mean if you want to that is..."

I interrupted him, placing my fingers on his lips. His eyes burned at the contact, "No that's not what I mean. I definitely want to. I only wanted to say it would probably be better if I told him."

He hesitated, ever aware of the customs of our people and the boldness of what I had suggested, but then he nodded. "Okay." And he kissed me again. It was just as delicious as the first. And it only got better.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Daemon and I spent the rest of the afternoon together. Sometimes talking, sometimes kissing, but always sitting side by side, always touching, always discovering. He liked to stroke my arms as he talked. I liked to touch his face, because he would sigh, a deep throaty sound when I did it. I told him about the Orphanage. He told me about his favorite memory of my mother. We talked about everything and nothing.

The next morning I was idly humming as I tried to smooth my hair into a complicated braid, something that I had seen Artha do for me in the past. I didn't care that my attempt to recreate it looked terrible. I couldn't help but be euphoric since Daemon and I were meeting for breakfast.

Without warning, my fur flap door flew up and my father stormed in. He was breathing heavy angry snorts. His eyes were narrowed. His fists were clenched at his side. "Samara, I thought I had made certain things clear to you!"

I squared my shoulders not intimidated in the least, "You've hardly told me anything at all!"

He dismissed my argument. "You will learn everything with time and experience, but one thing I know I have made perfectly clear. You are destined for Kershean. You belong to Kershean! You will not fraternize with Daemon or any other male in the camp."

I snorted in anger, "I do not belong to anyone!"

"I do not like this attitude of yours." His voice was low, dangerous.

I rolled my eyes, "You know what? You and Kershean would be perfect for each other. Why don't you cut me out of the deal and call it a day?"

"You will not speak to me like this!" He was right in my face now screaming each word at me. A piece of spittle hit my cheek and I flinched.

But I would not back down. "I don't belong here. I am not one of you. I don't fit in. Perhaps I should leave," I was bluffing, but he didn't have to know that.

The color completely drained from his face. "You can't," he finally sputtered.

"Oh yeah, who's going to stop me!" I was really warming to my threat now. "I have nothing truly keeping me here."

"We would just bring you back," he said, but his words lacked authority. "And you would still be forbidden to associate with Daemon."

"Why? Tell me why I'm not allowed to spend my time with a warm, friendly, and very good person? He's my friend."

"I saw you kissing him. He isn't _just_ a friend. We do not kiss our friends! You are not to do such things with anyone but your Kershean!"

"That's ridiculous. What if we were in love? Would you still make me pledge my life away to someone else?"

He looked horrified, "Are you in love with Daemon?"

"Not yet, but I could be. I want to be."

"You will stay away from Daemon in order to honor your commitment to Kershean."

"_Your_ commitment you mean. I have never made any such promises."

"Do not question me on this daughter!"

"But Kershean isn't even here," I felt I needed to point out. He had abandoned this silly plan first! Why wasn't I allowed to get out when the going was good?

"That doesn't matter. I have remained faithful to your mother even though she has left us. And Kershean's family _is_ here. _They _have seen what you have done. It has made them very nervous. Please, if you value me at all, you will stay away from Daemon. He is not meant for you."

I couldn't promise. He wasn't playing fair. He was trying to guilt me into agreeing. I whirled on my heel and stormed out. He didn't stop me and he didn't even try to follow. I stalked through the snow, bypassing Artha. She started to hail me. I ignored her. She was probably the one that had tattled to my father; some kind of friend!

I passed the cooking fires. Something smelled wonderful. Strong spices mingled together in the air. It didn't even tempt me.

I passed Daemon. He was sitting on a rock, eating an apple and reading a novel. He called my name. I had to make each foot walk past him-literally forcing each of them to keep moving. See Dad, I'm staying away from him and I'm miserable! One after the other, 1 metre, then 10 metres, then 20.

I had never walked this way before. It was shadowed on each side by thick rock overhangs. It was dark and claustrophobic. It fit my mood. I was stuck with no way out, nowhere to go. My life had been planned from the moment I had been born. What's the point in being alive if we can't choose our own destiny? Living forever was fine, but living forever as Kershean's punching bag? Count me out. Great, now I was depressed.

The path I had chosen was a maze, dipping around and between rocks, breaking off into new trails. I passed several of them wondering if any of them led off the mountain. But which one? I didn't even know how to run away. I wasn't as independent as I thought I was. They had seen to that. How humiliating.

I heard a noise behind me. A quick undertone of an echo and immediately gone. Someone was following me. I looked behind me, even as the sound vanished. But there was nothing behind me except my own footprints cutting a harsh contrast through the white snow.

I thought of my father first. Was he following to do battle once again? I wrinkled nose, no, he would have caught up much sooner if he had wanted to talk to me. Daemon perhaps? He wouldn't have stayed hidden. Neither would my father for that matter. There would be no reason to hide from me.

So who could it be? But I already knew who it would be, didn't I? Who would hide from for their own wicked reasons? DeWittier. He was behind me, blocking me from getting back to camp. I would have to go onward.

I moved faster, my legs burned with the exertion and my brow quickly became coated in sweat. I listened for any further sounds behind me. I could only hear my own footsteps echoing against the rock walls of the mountains. They bounced away and returned a dizzying frenzy of sound.

The vision was happening, it was upon me and I was not prepared. I had spent all of my time with Daemon or arguing with my father. What do I do? There was that sound again! It was closer than it had been before. I whipped around immediately and caught the heel of a boot as its owner dived behind a rock.

I started to run, tearing through the snow as fast as I could. Now I could definitely hear footsteps behind me, Moving fast, catching up. I couldn't run any faster than I already was. I looked over my shoulder, DeWittier didn't even bother to hide this time and I caught his crazed eyes. He would not be giving up the chase anytime soon.

I wished I'd had more time to think of a strategy to deal with him. I had been too concerned with other things. Things that didn't seem at all important now.

Up ahead, the path curved behind a rock outcropping. It would give me the seconds I needed to find a hiding place; the cave from my vision. I saw it just as I turned into the curve. There I would make my final stand against DeWittier. Each time I'd had the dream I had failed, falling from the cliff at DeWittier's hand.

I ducked into the cave moving over the ice, just the way Daemon had taught me, feet pointed out, legs apart, walking flat. But I was going much too fast and I slipped and slid to a hard stop behind the boulder where I would wait for DeWittier. Where I always waited. Except this time my toes were stubbed from the harsh halt.

My heart was pounding my lungs heaving. I tried to slow down my severe breathing. I could change things. I had to change them! This time it would be different. I just wasn't sure how. Clip, clip, DeWittier was hurrying now. He had given up on trying to be stealthy. He was now just intent on catching me. Water was dripping from the ceiling masking my breathing. The cave entrance was small, well hidden. Perhaps he would pass by? It was a foolish hope of course.

DeWittier turned into the grotto and moved directly towards my hiding place. There was nowhere else to hide in the tiny space, none of the other rocks were large enough to hide my form. He knew right where I was immediately.

His face was contorted into a sneer. One eyebrow was raised. He was taunting me. Teasing me. Like the hunter he was, he had planned every angle, blocked every escape route. "Little Samara. Come out, come out! I won't wait for long."

His voice was eerily calm, "I think I will start by cutting off each of your fingers, one by one. Then all of your teeth. And your beautiful eyes, they will have to go too." He was psychotic; his voice once again had taken on the air of an easy conversation among acquaintances.

But I wasn't scared of him this time. I was angry. My eyes narrowed with each word he uttered, "I will disfigure your face. Make you disgusting to behold. No one will want you. You will be alone." He smiled a wide grin. I gaped at him. He walked closer, "You are such a beautiful girl. It will be a shame." He shrugged, "But you brought it on yourself. You would not help me. So I went elsewhere: And here I am, ready to get everything I've ever wanted. You know what? Scratch all of that. You would still try to foil my plans wouldn't you?" He tapped his chin like he was selecting produce at the supermarche, "Better to kill you now. Letting you live would mess up my status quo. And I must have order."

He smiled down at me, "So come out from behind that rock and we'll get started shall we?"

Something inside me snapped. I leaped from behind my rock aiming for DeWittier. I was slipping on the ice already, my arms flailing. I wouldn't be able to stay upright and on my feet for much longer. I stumbled forward, keeping my balance. It hurt and it was exhausting but in my anger I knew I would hold on until I reached DeWittier. His eyes grew ridiculously large as he saw me coming, he had not considered the prey becoming the predator.

Directly behind him was the cliff, the one that I was supposed to go off of. Not this time. When we collided, my forward motion threw DeWittier onto his back, his poles clanking uselessly against the ice. Fighting to maintain my balance and motion, I crouched down and hit his legs as hard as I could shoving him out of the cave. He was no match for me and the momentum I brought with me. For the first time in my life I was grateful to have always been the largest girl in the class! I pushed him across the snow path even as he tried to grab me, to regain the ground he had lost. His hands slipped off of the soft fur of my vest and my hair was tied tightly back and safely out of reach. Finally I had harnessed the strength I would need to do exactly what was necessary. I pushed him to the cliff edge. I didn't pause to consider, I didn't think at all. I just pushed him over. I watched as he fell, screaming and clawing, trying to catch something trying to stop, trying to do anything to save himself. DeWittier was gone.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Life is precious. Even for someone who lives forever. I stared down the cliff, imagining I could see DeWittier's twisted corpse. At the base of the mountain mangled and broken it lay even now among the rocks and trees soon to be fodder for scavenging animals. I gagged, and retched. Wiping my arm across my mouth could not take away the taste of the vomit, or the bitterness of my soul. I deserved to suffer. I was a sixteen-year-old girl and I had killed two men. That was not normal.

Big globular tears coursing down my cheek. Tears of pain, of relief, of depression. I cried because I was finally free from the madman. No longer could he stalk my every move. Finally it was over. The moment had come and I had triumphed. Even as the weight lifted, the pain at the very center of my being tortured me as my conscience ripped itself to pieces trying to exact punishment for my sin. Depression set in too and I blubbered, my cheeks raw and stinging.

A month ago I had been sitting in my philosophy class trying not to fall asleep and avoiding the amused glances from my classmates as they tried not to laugh at my rumpled pajamas and bright pink flip flops. And now I crouched high on a cliff of a barely hospitable mountain, gazing down at the final resting place of DeWittier's body. The body that I had thrown over. My body revolted again and again until there was nothing left.

I lay down in the snow and ice, my body spent. The darkness of depression overwhelmed me again. Did this all mean that I was a bad person? I didn't have a choice. There was no other option. I thought of my family. How would they react when they found out? Would I be ostracized? Sent away? Or maybe it wouldn't matter. DeWittier was just a human, and my family hated humans.

I wondered idly what my mother would think. Somehow suddenly her opinion mattered the most. Would she still love me even if she knew what I had done? Would she turn me away?

I didn't want to think anymore. It was all too much to process. All I wanted was to be back in my familiar dorm room bed listening to Cammy trying to belt out Broadway show tunes.

I was calmer when the morning came ready to face my father. I knew what I wanted; I had my bartering chip ready. He quietly regarded me as I approached smiling but his eyes were wary and slightly narrowed. He took a deep breath and let it out. I did the same.

"Father I want to apologize for my behavior."

"You are forgiven my daughter. Please understand that I am doing this for your own good as well as mine."

I struggled not to roll my eyes, "Sure." It was the best I could do after such a speech. I moved on eager to get this over with. "Something happened yesterday."

His eyes widened, "What?"

"I ran into DeWittier up on a cliff. He found us after all."

He was already moving towards the door, "We will find a new camp. It will not takes us long to lose him. We will travel in groups of 3. I must call a council."

I stopped him, "There is no need."

"He agreed to turn back? Gsve up his quest?" He was incredulous to the extreme.

"No. He is dead. He threatened us, promising exposure." I didn't even feel the slightest twinge at lying. "I pushed him off the mountain."

"You killed him? That is good my daughter. Though usually that is a better job for the males." Oo-kay. Not exactly what I was expecting.

"It was self-defense. I dreamed he pushed me off the mountain."

"Ah." His face cleared. If only I could forget as easily! "Well on behalf of the whole tribe, we are grateful."

"I was hoping for something like that. I want a favor."

"You must marry Kershean."

"No. That is not the favor." _Though that would have been nice._ I breathed in and out calming myself hoping my voice would be steady enough, "I want to see my mother."

"She is not here. We do not…"

"Please do not lie. I know you at least have a general idea where she is, I have been told that this is true. Father you know what this would mean to me. And after what I have done for you?" I needled him.

Face to face, eye to eye because I was stooping a bit, we watched each other. Finally, his shoulders slumped defeated, "She is in Germany. In Baden Wurttenberg, home of the black forest."

That was still a very large area, "Can you not be more specific?"

"No. She is very remote, far from the civilizations of man. That is all I can tell you." I eyed him carefully. He looked at me, his defenses washed up. He really was just a bitter old man. And for once he was telling the truth.

"Why have you not gone and found her?"

"She does not want to be returned." Meaning he respected my mother enough to let her go. Perhaps someday he could respect me like that too.

"I am going to go to her." I thought he should at least know of my plans.

He sighed. "I knew you would eventually want to search her out. I had hoped it would not be so soon."

"I will leave in the morning."

He sighed and scratched his face, thinking, "Take the second path that descends directly outside the south side of the camp. It is not the quickest but it is the easiest way off the mountain."

I nodded, "Okay."

"And you will need funds. I will get you some Euro's. "

"You don't have to."

"I know." That was the last thing he said to me.

I ate heartily that day, filling my stomach as best as I could since I did not know when or where my next good meal would be. Daemon was suspiciously missing from the main areas of camp and I must admit I was very disappointed to not be able to see him. I didn't know how to say goodbye though so it was probably fortuitous. I liked to think that he felt as awkward as I did about parting and was avoiding it like I was.

My father was good to his word, and when I arose the next morning I found a tied wad of Euro's beside my pillow in the morning. I went to pocket it until I realized what I was wearing. I would never blend in among the humans looking like I just stepped out of a Neanderthal diorama. I looked at my human clothes still folded and sitting in the corner. They were torn, and still very dirty.

There had to be another way. I could always borrow something. Now if only I could think of someone who would have something appropriate. Daemon. And we were approximately the same size. I wasn't worried about it being fashionable I just needed to blend in. In the early morning hours I snuck over to his cave. Few Neanderthals were awake at this hour, and those that were, were too busy going about their tasks to pay me any attention. I slipped into Daemon's cave completely unnoticed.

He was asleep, only his face poking out of the furs, his hair a giant ball of frizz from all the tossing and turning he probably did in his sleep. I sighed over the long eyelashes, and the soft red lips, puckered slightly. He looked positively angelic. I resisted the urge to smooth his hair waking him up only to beg him to come with me. Either that or kiss him silly. My lips still burned every time I thought about kissing.

He had a small duffel at the foot of his bed, the only other thing in his sleeping chambers. I unzipped it slowly, wincing as the teeth scrapped together. The sound echoed and bounced back and forth around the small space. With each tick of the zipper I worried that he would awake. Finally I couldn't take the suspense any longer and in one quick motion I unzipped it the rest of the way. The sound was deafening.

And Daemon slept on. I blew out the breath I had been holding. I peeked inside his bag, seeing first a folded up pair of snow pants. They were grey, different from the black he usually wore. So he had two pairs then? At least I wouldn't be taking his only clothes. In addition there was also a large hooded sweatshirt. Taking them both, I moved into the corner, as far from Daemon's body as I could. The easiest option was to dress right here. Daemon's cave was ideally situated, directly beside the path I would need to take when I left the camp.

I pulled the pants up under my cotton shift. They were loose at the waist and snug at the hips, but they would keep me warm, and they were better than anything I had. My own human clothes looked like I had been in a war and lost. I suppose in a way I had. I stuffed the Euros into one of the pants pockets.

I paused suddenly nervous. Putting on the pants had been easy; the sweatshirt was an entirely different matter. I would have to remove my furs and shift. Down to my underwear. I glanced at Daemon. He was still asleep and breathing heavily in and out. _Phew._ I was not quite ready for him to see me in my underwear. That would be a bit awkward if he woke up just now. I untied the belt and pulled off the furs.

I found myself shuffling towards the very back of the cave and in the opposite direction that he was facing. That way if he woke up I would have a few moments to right everything. Now for the truly hardest part, the 'down to my underwear in the almost boyfriend's cave' part. In one quick move I yanked the shift over my head, and pulled the sweatshirt on in its place. Daemon suddenly groaned in his sleep and I froze, my eyes darting over to him. His eyes were closed, he was still asleep. I pulled my now shaking arms through the sleeves of the sweatshirt. It was much bigger than I had expected, and I tugged and folded the extra fabric over at my elbows. I was ready to go. Or as ready as I would ever be.

I would not say goodbye to anyone. They would either insist on coming with me, or stop me from going. This should be a solitary pilgrimage.

I stopped at the edge of camp and took a long look behind me. The cooking fires had been all been extinguished and were smoking actively now, their trails curling and disappearing into the morning sky. The furs over the cave doors were flapping in the arctic breeze. I wrapped the sweater tighter around me and unrolled the sleeves. I would rather look ridiculous than be cold.

No more hesitating. I found the second path traveling down from camp. I could see some distant pine tree tops. I made sure to keep my eyes on them as I navigated through the twists and turns of the trail. Once I reached them, I would look for the nearest town. From there perhaps I could catch a train. I had counted the Euros. If I was careful I would have enough to purchase a second class train ticket to Baden Wurttenburg. Somewhere out there was my mother. Now all I had to do was find her.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Perhaps if she had been someone else. It wasn't as if she wasn't attractive enough: Though there were times when he worried that she wasn't quite right in the head. Humans had mirrors, even he knew that, why did she refuse to use them? _

_And she didn't want to be his mate. That made the rejection process so much easier. She was so loud! Entirely unsuitable. He had always been taught by his father that women should be seen and not heard. Samara had no idea what that even meant. _

_She wasn't like any of the Neanderthal women either that was for sure. She did not know how to weave, or cook, or keep a home. And it bothered him that he didn't seem to care about those things, even though he knew he should. _

_Kershean moved through the forest like he always did. Quiet and fast he was completely connected to the trees, to the rocks, to the grass, gliding past all of them leaving them undisturbed. Not like her. Quiet for her had no meaning. Perhaps if she had tried harder to please; in more ways than one._

_But she wasn't interested in pleasing him. So very irritating that! Everyone was interested in pleasing him. He was a phenomenal specimen of virility and he would be the leader someday. What made her think she could treat him like he didn't mean anything? She didn't deserve him really._

_He was glad he had told her father exactly what he thought of her. He knew she was nearby. He could smell the gardenias scent that she wore. He felt bad about the whole thing especially after seeing her face._

_He shook those thoughts away. He was thirsty. He could hear a distant bubble. There was a stream nearby. He moved towards it exhilarated. He ripped his shirt and shoes off, and strode into the water, submerging his entire body in the frigid water. His body seized and stiffened, responding to the temperature. He ignored it._

_He remembered the last time he had bathed in a cool brook. Samara had been breathing heavy but still trying to look tough perched on her rock. Her feet were tucked under her at an odd angle, probably trying to relieve her blistered feet. And she was watching his every move. The way he unfastened every button, slowly revealing his chest. There weren't many times that she really looked at him. He knew he was attractive. _

_He would torture her, just a little. Show her what she was missing. He watched her for a reaction. Her eyes widened. In terror? No, not quite. So she did find him attractive. He removed the shirt completely and began washing his chest, letting the muscles contract under his fingers. Her mouth fell open. He smirked, I have you now! _

_He dipped his head under the water again, trying to wash those kinds of thoughts out through his ears. He still didn't really understand what had compelled him to do that. _

_It had all been wrong from the very first time he had seen her. He hadn't been aware he had been scowling at her in disappointment until he saw her reaction, so clearly on her face. He had expected someone different._

_He had felt bad surprisingly. He had wanted to apologize somehow. But she ignored him. He had sat in her usual seat, but instead of sitting beside him she had moved across the room. He had been confused because he had fixed her appearance She looked almost pretty all of the sudden. That was for him certainly. He felt smug._

_And then he had seen the human: Kershean bared his teeth. Samara had laughed at the human's jokes, and touched the human's hand. Nothing had been done for Kershean. Her attempt to look pretty had been for the human. He wasn't sure why, he barely understood the feeling but he was pretty sure he had been jealous._

_She had never enjoyed his company, not like the human's. The only time she had ever laughed had been when he had fallen down with the bike. Now that was a mortifying experience. _

_He had never been so close to a woman before; surely that was why his reflexes had been off. He had never experienced such jubilation._

_And because he liked the way it felt to have __**her **__arms around him, he had done something very weak, and treated her to breakfast. Like the human had done. He had hoped that she would enjoy it. But he should not care if Samara was happy or not._

_He sighed as his thoughts came full circle, if only she had been someone else! She had so many qualities that were unattractive, so many things that made him cringe. He shook his head in disgust. Why couldn't he seem to get away from her? And then he knew. He was undeniably attracted to Samara. He'd never stood a chance. _

_The camp was in an uproar when Kershean returned. He was anxious to see Samara, to tell her all of the things he had decided. Everything seemed much simpler now that he had figured it all out. Now he just had to get her alone._

_He hadn't expected to come back to things so, disjointed. He could see his own father, and Samara's a distant away. Both were angry, arms were flying wildly and their faces were purple with indignation. He didn't pay them much attention. Those two were always fighting about something._

_To see Artha though, sweet Artha, battling it out with her own mate, now that worried Kershean. Especially because Artha seemed to be winning. Hands on her hips, she was a picture of righteous indignation. What was happening?_

_His eyes narrowed when he found the other observer, precariously sitting on a rock, watching the 'show' with amusement crinkling at the corners of his eyes, as if he had been the cause of it all. Kershean stalked forward, before he realized he was moving. It probably was all his fault. Daemon loved causing trouble._

"_What are you doing here?" He managed to growl out._

"_Ah Kershean, back from your ego trip?"_

"_It was a soul search," Kershean managed to grind out between his gritted teeth, "A chance to think about my duty. Not that you would know anything about that."_

_Daemon put his hand to his heart, "Oh you wound me. But perhaps I know more about duty than you imagine. Or haven't you ever wondered why our parents saw the need to have me, Big Brother?"_

_Daemon smirked as he heard the bones in Kershean's fingers pop, "You are not my brother anymore. Not after what you've done. You should leave."_

"_Oh come now, you aren't happy to see me?"_

"_I would be happier to see the back of you!"_

"_Always so angry. You know that temper of yours coupled with your superior attitude has always been your downfall."_

"_What's it to you?" _

_Daemon jumped down from his rock and stood toe to toe with his elder brother, "Only this: Perhaps there are others here who would appreciate it if I was the leader."_

_Adar and Pithe would never agree to that! "Oh yeah, like who?"_

"_Perhaps Samara?" At that, Kershean's fist connected with Daemon's still smirking face._

_

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**It will take me a little while to update Forever Apart, so if things seem a bit off, sorry! I'm going as fast as I can. So what did you guys think? Better right? **


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